A New Life
by NyotaBaggins221B
Summary: Modern AU: A teenaged, orphaned Desmond is taken in by his older half-brother, Altair. Neither of them knew about each other until social services introduced them.
1. Meeting Altair

**A/N**

**Hey. So, this is my first fanfic. I hope you don't hate it.**

**It was an idea I had of a modern AU for Assassin's Creed. The basic plot is that a teenaged, orphaned Desmond is taken in by his half-brother, a mid-twenties Altair, who he didn't know about until now. I'm keeping this rated T for violence (nothing too bad or explicit, I'm keeping it fairly simple) and possible cussing. I'm not entirely sure how the plot is going to go yet, but I hope you like it. Review. Or don't. That's up to you.**

**A New Life**

**Chapter 1: Meeting Altair**

Desmond rested his head against the cold glass of the car window, backpack clutched tightly to his chest. It was cloudy. Perfect to suit his mood. The social worker in the driver's seat (Mrs. Jenkins? Or something like that?) was prattling away about something, most likely how "lucky" Desmond was.

Desmond didn't feel lucky.

The fifteen-year-old had found out about his older half-brother several days earlier. He didn't even know the guy's name, only that he was a twenty-four-year old grad student and apparently, judging by what Desmond could see out the window, he lived in a small town in the middle of nowhere. His usual social worker, a frightening young woman by the name of Mrs. Ellis, had dropped the news on him in her usual brash manner.

_"We've finally found your last living relative, Mr. Miles. You have a half-brother. Congratulations. He's graciously accepted to take you in. Considering your "history" with foster homes, I beg of you: do not screw this up."_

Those were the cheery words she'd greeted him with at seven in the morning when she stormed loudly into his room at the group home and scared him out of sleep. Desmond wasn't even awake enough to be shocked. He'd merely mumbled his agreement to the situation and rolled back over. Even now, the boy wasn't all that surprised or worried. His new brother would grow sick of him eventually. Everyone did.

* * *

Desmond's new home was on the outer edge of the small suburban town. It was a nice little place; a one-storied brick house with a bright red door. As far as homes went, it wasn't the worst place Desmond had lived. Mrs. Jenkins? (Seriously he needed to learn her name) walked up to the door and knocked. Desmond followed more slowly, slinging the tattered backpack over his shoulders and dragging his duffel bag out behind him. Just as he closed the car door with a loud thunk, the social worker's perky voice came from right behind him. He avoided the urge to wince.

"Desmond Miles, meet Altair Ibn-La'Ahad."

Desmond turned slowly to finally see his brother. Guardian. Whatever the intimidating man standing in front of him was supposed to be. The older boy had his arms crossed over a white vest and a black t-shirt, and Desmond couldn't help the tiny smirk as he glanced at his own glaring white hoodie.

Upon finally looking up at the man's face, Desmond could certainly see the resemblance. They were nearly identical, although the older boy's features were sharper, more hardened. Altair was also a good half-foot (or more) taller than Desmond, who was small for his age and still growing, and a great deal more bulky with muscle. They were definitely their father's sons.

"Hello." Altair's voice was hard and clipped. Desmond tried not to stare at the thin white scar that ran down across the other's lips. The younger merely stared for a moment, trying to think of something to say in response. What could he say_- nice to meet you older brother who I'd never met or even heard of until three days ago_? In the end, he settled on the first thing that came to mind.

"Ibn-La'Ahad?" Desmond internally slapped himself. _Great question, Des_. Altair raised an eyebrow.

"My mother was Syrian." Right. Half-Brothers. Desmond shrugged and stepped away from the car and closer to his new sibling, who leveled him with a neutral look that was somehow utterly terrifying. The teenager shifted uncomfortably. He sort of zoned out and just glanced around at the surrounding houses and the small street.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the woman's hand landing on his shoulder. He winced in surprise. She smiled at him and murmured a soft "be good" before clambering back into her car and driving away. Desmond felt suddenly vulnerable. He was now alone with a man he had just met and who he was supposed to stay with for the next… however long.

"You coming, Desmond?" Altair asked and the boy looked up to see him standing several feet up the walkway to the house. The teenage shuffled quietly past him and up to the doorway. Desmond hesitates on the doormat, staring into the space within. He knew that as soon as he stepped in that house, Altair could do anything to him. He'd already learned that lesson.

"C'mon, Kid." And Desmond has no choice but to enter as Altair's large hand lands between his shoulder blades and shoves him over the threshold.

* * *

Altair had to say. It had been a weird few days. When he had gotten that phone call early Tuesday morning, he wasn't expecting a social worker to tell him he had a teenaged half-brother and then ask him if he had the will and resources to take him in. Of course he said yes. Altair was harsh, yeah, but he wasn't heartless. It's what his mom would have wanted. He was the kid's last living blood relative and that had to count for something. And, judging by what Mrs. Ellis had hinted at, Desmond hadn't had the best luck with homes. Altair's wasn't perfect, but it would do.

They'd sent someone out the next day to check if his house was "suitable" for a child.

Altair wasn't that nervous. True, he wasn't the parenting type, but the kid had been on his own long enough to be able to mostly take care of himself. And the older boy has enough money from both his mother's savings and his own bank account to cover them both for a while. He had a job, and less than a year of school left before he graduated. He was prepared. And even if it was hard, he wouldn't leave the kid out in the cold. He couldn't, because Desmond didn't deserve that.

Needless to say, as ready as Altair felt, he wasn't prepared for what actually arrived at his house. He was expecting a teenager who looked like a random stranger, utterly different. The too-small fifteen-year old in a baggy white hoodie that clambered out of the car was the exact opposite. Desmond blinked at him and Altair could only press out a "hello" to that too-familiar face, years younger than his own but so similar. The kid's eyes were old, seen too much for such a short lifetime.

"Ibn-La'Ahad?" Altair felt a prick of irritation as the kid seemed to mock his last name, but then he remembered: half-brothers. Desmond had just found out about him too, of course he didn't know about his mom. That knowledge didn't stop his answer from being clipped and annoyed.

Altair took a long look at the kid standing on his sidewalk after the social worker (whatever her name was) left. The teenager seemed slightly lost, staring around like he didn't know what to do with himself. Altair quickly got his attention and beckoned him towards the door. The kid froze once again in front of his door and Altair sighed.

_What am I getting myself into?_ Altair rolled his eyes as he sent Desmond stumbling into his house, quickly following suit.


	2. The Apple

**A/N**

**Hey. It's me again. I'm finally posting Chapter 2 of A New Life. Yay! Sorry it took so long. I really didn't know what I wanted to do with this challenge. I was trying to find a way to sort of "start" the beginning of Altair and Desmond's brotherly friendship/relationship. It took a while (sorry again), but this is what I came up with. I really hope you like it. Feel free to review or you know, whatever you'd like to do. Hopefully Chapter 3 will come soon.**

**A New Life  
**

**Chapter 2: The Apple**

The first few days were uncomfortable at best. The brothers barely saw each other, what with Altair working that weekend and Desmond staying holed up in his room. The only interactions since the first night consisted of awkward hello's when Desmond finally needed food or Altair brought him a plate of takeout.

Desmond spent most of his time contemplating the changes in his life and his newly found sibling. So far, Altair seemed… okay. He hadn't tried to force Desmond to talk and the only long conversation he _had_ forced was the first night when he'd sat the younger boy down and explained the house rules. They were simple enough: Clean up after yourself and anything you break, don't stay out past ten, and tell Altair where and when he's going if he leaves the house. Oh, and don't forget to bring the extra house key that the older boy had pressed into Desmond's fist. Altair also mentioned that he had enrolled Desmond into his sophomore year at the local high school. Luckily school didn't start for another few months so Desmond had time to adjust. Then his brash older brother had snatched his phone, typed the number in, and led Desmond to his new room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Desmond hadn't said more than five words to the guy since. Altair was gone most of the weekend anyways at wherever the heck he works. Today was Monday, though, and Altair had been gone for several hours. He left early with a yelled "going to class" and Desmond hadn't come out of his room since. He didn't know what to do in the house without Altair there. Avoiding an awkward face to face with his new caretaker had taken up most of his time.

"Desmond."

Said teenager jumped, broken out of his thoughts, and blinked owlishly at the man leaning on the door frame. Altair smirked. "I called your name five times." Desmond sheepishly rubbed the back of his head as he sat up.

"When did you get back?" Desmond frowned. He wasn't sure when to expect the other back. He would need to keep better track of his class times.

"Few minutes ago. Didn't you get my texts?" Desmond frowned and snatched his phone off the night stand, flipping through it.

_On my way back- Altair_

_ You want lunch?- Altair_

_ Desmond- Altair_

_ You're impossible- Altair_

Oops. Guess he'd need to turn the ringer up too. With another embarrassed head-scratch, Desmond stood with a long stretch. Altair just watches with that slightly (ok, majorly) intimidating neutral look. At his raised eyebrow and glance at Desmond's phone, the younger says a quiet "I could eat", and Altair actually smiles just a bit, a tiny twitch of lips.

"Grab your shoes and c'mon." Desmond does as instructed and soon the two brothers were out the door, Altair leading Desmond toward the center of town. Desmond couldn't help but stare around as they walked, drinking in his new home.

It was a nice place.

* * *

Eden was a small town. You could get almost anywhere by walking. Altair only owned a car so he could drive to the nearby community college for classes.

Eden itself was pretty and quaint, with brick building and a central hub with restaurants and city hall. It was a town where everyone knew everybody else and information spread quickly. The people were nice, the food was good, and people came from generations of the town and added generations too.

Altair had lived in Eden since he and his mother had moved there when he was eight. He knew it like the back of his hand. Desmond, however, didn't, and stuck close to the older boy's side, shying away from the stares he was getting by the street's other occupants. Altair had expected this- news spreads fast in a small town- but he didn't think it would be this bad. People were openly gawking at the teen. Altair sent a particularly vicious glare at anyone who stared longer than he thought was proper. Yes, Desmond was a new face. Yes, he was Altair's brother who nobody knew about, _including_ Altair. But all of that didn't mean it was okay to stare at the kid like he was some damn science experiment.

Altair led his little brother down several streets until they reached the center of town. He gave a small wave to a shop owner in the square who called a greeting. Desmond shrunk into his hoodie as more people called out the older boy the closer they got to their destination.

"Where are we going?" Desmond asked softly. Altair pointed straight ahead at a small, old-fashioned diner. There was a large sign over the door that read 'The Apple' in large loopy letters. Desmond's mouth dropped slightly in shock. Altair laughed.

"What? You never been to a diner?" Altair's hard gaze barely softened at the boy's wide-eyed head shake. Altair looked fondly up at the restaurant himself. He'd been going to the Apple since the day he arrived in town. It was a tradition to come at least once a week; a fact that was quickly proven as soon as Altair opened the door.

Upon entering the diner, Desmond nearly had to dive out of the way as a blur with black hair slammed into Altair. It took a second for Desmond to realize that the blur was actually human- a girl who was now pulling back to look directly at him.

"You must be Desmond!" The girl squeals. And then she proceeded to fling herself forward as if to hug him. Altair stopped her at the last second, catching the terrified expression on the boy's face. Desmond looks at his brother and then quickly back at the female.

"Desmond, meet Rebecca Crane. Her mom owns this place. Rebecca, meet Desmond, my new roommate." Desmond couldn't help but feel wounded that Altair wouldn't introduce him as his brother. Sure, they'd only known each other for a few days, but they were legally related for God's sake.

"Oh, I know who you are!" The girl, Rebecca, says, and then, at Desmond's suspicious look, she adds with a wink- "News travels fast in a small town."

Desmond gives an uncomfortable smile in response. Altair doesn't seem phased, and merely grips Desmond's shoulder and drags him over to the corner booth.

"We want the usual!" Altair shouts over his shoulder, tacking a 'please' onto the end almost as an afterthought. What seems like moments later, plates of food appear in front of them.

* * *

_Was this kid raised in a barn? _All Altair can do is stare as Desmond crams his food down his throat as if it's going to run away if he doesn't eat it fast enough. Half the burger is gone in a matter of seconds, swallowed down with several fistfuls of fries.

"It's not going to disappear, you know." Altair smirks around his own food, and Desmond freezes and rocks back on his side of the booth. He looks embarrassed and rubs the back of his head, something Altair is quickly picking up on as a habit.

"Sorry," the boy says back. "It's just really good. I haven't been to a restaurant in…" He trails off. Altair waits for him to name the amount of time, but it never comes. The only answer he gets to the unspoken words is Desmond poking at his fries.

"At least drink some of your shake before it melts." Altair says it as an attempt to ease the tension. It doesn't do much.

Desmond looks over at the icy beverage with something close to trepidation on his face. He reaches for it and then stops halfway there. Altair sighs loudly and lunges forward over the table. Taking a large drink of Desmond's milkshake, the older boy collapses back into the booth, throwing his arms out as if to say 'there'.

"See? Not poisoned." At Desmond's skeptical look, Altair gets frustrated. And a frustrated Altair is a mocking Altair. "Come _on_, Desmond. It's a milkshake. Man up and drink it. I did not buy it for you for it to go to waste. Are you allergic or something?"

Desmond breaks the rocky eye contact they had and looks down shyly. His voice is incredibly soft and Altair has to practically climb across the table to hear him.

"I don't know. I've never had one."

That stops Altair's growing mood in its tracks. He stares. _What fifteen-year old has never had a milkshake?_ Desmond seems to deflate with the admission, sinking into the booth like he hopes it will swallow him. The boy curls into himself, one hand sliding up to wrap around the back of his neck and knot into the short hair at the nape. It's a sign of defense and shame. Altair was learning to read Desmond's body language as well as any one else.

_Why is he embarrassed? Does he think I'm mad he's never had a milkshake? _Altair cautiously leans forwards again, reaching out for his brother. Shoving the milkshake forwards with one hand, Altair gently pries Desmond's off his own neck and wraps it around the cup.

"That's okay." He murmurs softly at the kid. He can't help but stare at how _young_ Desmond looks when he glances up. "We can fix that right now. Just try it. It's good, I promise."

Desmond looks at him for a long moment. Altair gets the feeling that he's being judged. It sounds stupid, being judged for his worth by a teenager over a chocolate milkshake. But he thinks it's more than that. He locks his gaze with Desmond's, golden irises meeting brown. He's determined to make Desmond find what he's looking for, because he's looking to see if he can trust Altair. It's only been a few days, true, but Altair has a feeling that Desmond's trust is not an easy thing to gain. This is just the start- something simple. Can Desmond trust Altair with something he's never had? Can he trust that Altair wouldn't lie to him about what that thing entails? It's funny, Altair thinks, that the first test of his character is over whether he is lying about the goodness of a milkshake.

Desmond seems to find what he's looking for, because he takes a sip of the shake. Altair waits. Desmond blinks. And then his face breaks into the first genuine smile Altair has seen since the kid was dropped into his world. He can't help but send a tiny one back in return.


	3. Getting to Know You

**A/N **

**Hi guys. Here's Chapter 3. It came faster than Chapter 2. Yay! I tried to put my first sort of "angst" thing in this chapter. I'm planning to delve more into the background of it later in the story. By the way, I meant to mention this earlier, but I tried to use at much stuff from the plot and background of the games (which I do not own) as I could, but I twisted some of it to suit my story better (sorry). Also, if the characters' (who I also do not own) personalities are not like they are in the games, then I apologize. I'm trying to keep it as close as possible while still letting it work with my plots and ideas. I hope you like it. Please review, if you want to, or just read it and enjoy. I hope you enjoy. I'm certainly loving writing this story and I'm so happy to be getting positive reviews. So thanks to everyone who did review, and here is Chapter 3.**

**A New Life  
**

**Chapter 3: Getting to Know You**

It becomes a tradition after that. No matter when his classes are or when he's working, Altair always finds time to come home for lunch. He takes Desmond to all his favorite restaurants in town or brings takeout on the days he doesn't have time for sit-down. They sit with their food and fire questions back and forth, trying to see how far they can pry, how much they can learn; the simple stuff.

They go down to the Apple the most, sitting in the same corner booth with the same food (Since that first trip Desmond had become addicted to milkshakes. The kid always looked so dejected when he finished his that Altair always ended up shoving the second half of his own across the table). Desmond sits on the left of the booth and Altair sits on the right.

"_What's your favorite color?"_

"_White."_

"_White is the absence of color."_

"_It's still a color, Desmond. And it happens to be _my_ color. And if you hate white so much, why do you wear it _all_ the time?"_

"…_Because it makes you look cool."_

"_What is your favorite food?"_

"_Milkshakes."_

"_That's not food."_

"_It counts, Altair."_

"_No. It doesn't."_

"_Yes."_

"_We are not doing this. This is childish. What is your favorite food?"_

"_Pizza. Happy?"_

It goes on like this for three weeks; random questions with random food. Desmond learns that Altair used to take fighting lessons and that he now works at a gym as a trainer and a self-defense coach. He learns about Altair's love of Italian food that is so much like his own. Altair learns that Desmond is allergic to walnuts and that he was part of the fencing club at his old school (Altair had never heard of a high school having a fencing club, but okay). They just learn about each other, random facts that start to bring them closer than personal stories could. Neither of them will share those until the trust level is higher. It's getting there, slowly and surely, and Altair is comfortable with telling Desmond almost anything he wants to know. It's Desmond that's the deciding factor.

The teenager is still skittish. One second he's laughing and joking, the next he seems to think of something and sinks into himself, becoming more serious than any fifteen-year-old should ever be. Desmond has a naturally young face, and in these moments, Altair is shocked by how _old_ the boy's eyes look. Altair is slowly but surely gaining the teenager's trust, but Desmond is guarded whenever the older boy ends up digging too close to something too personal.

Their little get-to-know-you sessions come to a head a little over a month after Desmond had started living in Eden.

* * *

Altair could only stare at the time. He seemed to be doing that a lot around Desmond; just staring because the kid kept surprising him. The older boy had come home from a long shift at the gym to find the teenager in the kitchen. Altair had frozen, because there was no way that Desmond was-

"Are you _cooking?_" Altair's voice somehow did not contain the shock he felt. Desmond was stirring a large pot of _something_ and he glanced over his shoulder to look Altair, who was stripping his jacket off and dropping his bag.

"Yeah. What else would you do in a kitchen, exactly?" Desmond raises an eyebrow. Altair huffs something close to a laugh and comes further into the small space. He peeks over the kid's shoulder.

"I'm just surprised. Since when can you cook? Who taught you?" Altair was curious. He hadn't met many kids Desmond's age that enjoyed cooking, let alone were good at it (and judging by the wonderful smell Desmond _was _good at it).

"I… taught myself." The kid rubs his head. Altair catches the habit once again. _That kid gets embarrassed over the dumbest things. _He shoots the kid an impressed look.

"What's for dinner then, Chef Miles?" Altair nudges the kid in the head with his elbow, smirking. Desmond pushes him lightly in response and mutters 'soup' with a fake annoyed look. Altair starts taking bowls and spoons out. Desmond asks how his day was and so begins their daily round of 20 questions. It started early for once; they didn't even have their food yet.

That should have been Altair's first clue that the conversation was not going to end well.

* * *

Desmond is happy that he impressed Altair. It seems like something that's hard to do. It is true that he taught himself how to cook. It was a necessity at the time; something he felt he should learn. They are once again firing questions back and forth; something the younger boy has started to look forward to. It's fun just to sit and talk with someone, to learn more about them. It's honestly the most he's ever known about anybody, and the most he's ever told anybody about himself. He's slowly starting to trust his older half-brother. It's a long process, but he's getting there. They're in the transition phase from 'acquaintances' to 'friends'. They aren't really 'family' yet in anything but blood, but so far it's been good.

It's because of this new seed of friendship that Desmond decides to finally ask the question that's been bugging him since the day he'd met Altair.

"What…" The older boy turns to look at him expectantly. Desmond gathers his nerves. He has no idea how Altair will react to this question. He blinks up at his brother who has stepped closer now.

"Desmond?" The teenager in question looks away and a hand lands on his shoulder in response. "Desmond." It's not a question now.

"What was your mom like?"

Desmond bites his lip at Altair's suddenly expressionless face, immediately regretting asking. The older boy's eyebrows rise ever so slightly.

"My… mom?" Desmond nods hesitantly.

Altair's face softens the most Desmond has seen.

"Sure. I can tell you about her." The smile that splits Desmond face almost hurts. He turns back to making soup and just lets Altair's voice wash over him.

"My mother, her name was Maud Ibn-La'Ahad, before she married our father. I took her maiden name later in my life." Altair does not specify more on why he took that name. "What can I say? She was the most amazing woman I've ever known. She was kind, smart, my everything… She was my rock. She always knew what to do, always knew what to say. She got me starting in fighting lessons, actually; thought it would help me blow off steam."

Altair talks about her for a good ten minutes. It's obvious to Desmond that the older boy loved Maud Ibn-La'Ahad more than anything. He doesn't mention how she died (or even _if_ she died), and Desmond doesn't dare to ask. Getting this information is enough. The longer Altair speaks, the more Desmond learns that to Altair, loyalty and bond is everything. It's obvious in his mannerisms and the way he describes his relationship with his mom. Unfortunately, the more Altair describes his mother, the larger the uncomfortable lump in Desmond's throat grows. He swallows the jealousy and discomfort down (for he knows what question is coming next) and tries to just let the deep tones of his brother's voice wrap around him. That voice sounds happier than Desmond's heard so far. It ends all too soon.

"What about you?" And there it is- The dreaded question. "What was your mother like?" Desmond can't help the bitter twist his mouth takes.

"Gone." He nearly snarls the word. Altair doesn't look surprised by the news, more so his tone. After all, Desmond wouldn't be living with him if his parents were around, so why should he be? Altair murmurs a quiet apology and the harsh laugh that comes out of Desmond's mouth in response shocks even the younger boy. Desmond shoots him a wry look. "Oh, don't worry. She's not dead."

_That _seems to surprise the older boy. "Then what-"

"She left. The bitch." Desmond can't keep the hatred out of his voice, the anger. He won't even bother trying. He ends up being surprised that he's surprised at how the conversation ends up going. It's his fault, for starting this topic.

* * *

"What was you mom like?"

Altair was _not_ expecting that. He almost considers not telling Desmond. But the kid looks so innocent and nervous, like he really wants to know but he's too afraid to ask. So Altair starts talking. And he doesn't stop. It's easy to speak about his mother, a second nature. He loved her more than anyone else. When he finishes speaking, it takes him a second to realize that it's the first deeply personal question that's been asked between them. Altair figures he will return the favor.

It's not a shock that Desmond's mother is dead, or so he thinks at first. The kid lives with him now, after all, so there are obviously no parents available. He can't help the look of surprise at the harshness with which Desmond speaks of his mother, though. He almost asks when the woman left, but the look on Desmond's face keeps him from it. He won't pressure the kid. Altair switches to what is hopefully a safer topic, but he doesn't step out of this personal circle that they've stumbled into. They're growing closer and he doesn't want it to stop yet.

"What about our father? What was he like?" Altair doesn't look at Desmond when he asks this, too busy setting the table and packing his bags for class the next day.

"Don't you know?" The question is back in the style of voice Altair is used to; the quiet, shy Desmond. "He was your dad too."

"Yeah, but I don't remember much." He forces himself to sound unaffected. "He left when I was five, and I ended up here when I was eight. You were with him for a lot longer. How long did you live with him?"

"…12 years." It's so quiet Altair almost misses it. _What is up with him?_ He frowns over at his little brother, who has become very absorbed in making his soup. Altair walks over, looming over Desmond because now he's curious about why this is making Desmond so uncomfortable.

"So… what was he like?" Altair presses for the first time. He's testing new waters, pushing Desmond for an answer. Desmond sneaks a glance at him. Altair crosses his arms, looking as stern as he can.

"I don't know. He was… dad, I guess." Desmond won't answer this question. And for some irrational reason, that makes Altair mad. Because he just spent ten minutes talking about his dead mother and Desmond can't give him more than a handful of words about the dad that didn't want him but was happy to stay with Desmond for twelve years. He's not really mad at the kid himself but more the situation. Altair can't help but find it unfair. He explodes.

"Seriously, dude? I give you _everything_ I can think of about my mom's personality and how I felt about her and you can't tell me _anything _about a man you lived with for over a decade?!" He'll regret the words later, he knows, but they're out before he can help it. Desmond curls inwards, posture defensive.

"There's not much to tell." Desmond's voice is even more quiet, and Altair growls back something along the lines of 'bullshit'. Desmond looks at him. "I don't have anything to say about him, _dude_." It's still quiet but there's a sarcastic, defensive edge to it. Altair clenches his fist and takes several steps back, just trying to breathe. Desmond turns fully to face him.

"Sorry he doesn't compare to your _fabulous _mother."

And that is all it takes. Because no one, _no one_, mentions his mother in anything but a positive tone. Nobody insults Altair Ibn-La'Ahad's mother. The older boy is in Desmond's face almost instantaneously, storming forwards in all his terrifying glory (What can he say? He's scary when he wants to be. Or, you know, all the time).

"How _dare_ you!" Altair snarls, bending to get into the teenager's face. Desmond, eyes blown wide, staggers back in complete terror. His arm hits the pot behind him and soup goes _everywhere, _splashing down Desmond's bare arm and spilling across the floor. Desmond flinched at the heat but doesn't move any further away from Altair's rage.

"How dare you say anything about my mother! She is worth ten of anyone I know, including you. And what is with you being so sullen? What? You jealous that I had a mom and you didn't?" Desmond looks away and Altair knows he's correct. "You know what, Desmond? Yeah, I had a mother but you had a father, _our_ father. _Our_ father who was _my _father first, but he didn't want to stay with me. No. He stuck around for five years, five lousy years that I barely remember. And yet he stayed with you for _twelve_. And you won't tell me anything about the man who chose you over me."

"He left you guys years before I was born, Altair." Desmond's voice breaks. Altair doesn't care.

"He _raised_ you. He lived and stayed and cared with _you_. But not me. How is that fair that the man that makes us related would stay with one of us but not the other, not his first child? Why are you so damn special, huh?!" Desmond flinched away from him again, pressed as far back against the stove as he can. "Why were you good enough for him when I wasn't?"

"I don't know." Desmond says. Desmond knows something, though; Altair can read it in his face.

"Don't lie to me. It's pathetic. You're pathetic, feeling sorry for yourself because you didn't have a mom." The inside of Altair's head is screaming _stop_ but he can't. "You had dad. You had the father that knew me and decided he didn't want me or my mom. And then even when your mom left, did he even try to find us?! To support _us?_ No, no he didn't. So don't sit around and be jealous of me, because we both had an adult in our lives that left and we had one that stayed. We're in the exact same boat, Desmond."

"At least you had a _parent_!" The scream is loud and abrupt, followed by small hands slamming into his chest, shoving him back. It's the loudest Altair has ever heard the kid, and he is shocked into silence. Desmond repeats the sentence again at a much quieter decibel, and his voice is suspiciously choked.

Before Altair can move or even begin to process what the hell Desmond meant by that, the boy is around him and fleeing to his room. The door slamming shut leaves behind a silence that was more deafening than the screams.

* * *

_Altair asked about Dad. _Desmond was panicking on the inside. He was dodging the question every way he could but Altair was not taking it. Sarcasm is his defense mechanism, it's automatic. Desmond didn't mean to insult Altair's mother. He really didn't. He wished he hadn't. When the older boy had come at him, he had been terrified. Having someone in his face like that reminded him of- _do not think about that Desmond. Do not._

He stood there and took the insults, took the yells. He could handle it. He'd had so much worse. And he had a feeling that Altair didn't really mean it. He needed to believe in that feeling or this would kill him.

"At least you had a _parent_!"

The yell surprises Desmond as much as it does Altair. But it is true. Desmond had a _father_, sure, but he never had a _parent_. Their father hadn't raised him, not really. Altair had a parent in his mother, a kind woman who was always there for any problem or success, big or small. Desmond never had any of that.

He repeats his statement again, desperately trying to rein in his emotions, to get his calm back. He shoves the tears down with the lump in his throat. His usual shyness comes back full force and he does what he's best at. He runs, escaping to his room where it's safe. No amount of calm, however, keeps him from collapsing against the door once he's inside and sobbing.

* * *

Altair stays in the kitchen long after Desmond leaves, leaning heavily against the counter with a sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose and just tries to think through the mess he's just created. Because Altair knows, he _knows_ that he's just ruined everything.

It's easy to just ignore it for now though, the mess in the kitchen and the mess of emotions in the air. Altair collapses on the couch and eventually sinks into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes at around three in the morning to a soft thumping in the kitchen. Altair was always a light sleeper, but the noise is surprisingly soft even for him. Rising, the older boy stumbles into the kitchen to see his younger look-alike on the floor, knees sitting in the mess of icy soup. In the dim lighting, Altair can see the slight sheen to Desmond's arm from the barely-there burns from the spill earlier. The skin looks slightly raw and the older boy feels a pang of guilt.

Without a word, Altair kneels down besides Desmond and starts helping to pick up pieces of noodle and carrot. The kid doesn't look at him or say anything. They're halfway through the mess when Desmond's voice comes out, hoarse in the silence of the kitchen.

"It's fine, you know."

Altair's head snaps around, eyes wide, and he stumbles over his words. "No, no, Desmond, no, it's not. It's not _fine_. You don't even know; I am so-"

"Altair." Desmond doesn't look at him, just keeps methodically cleaning.

"It's okay." And Altair believes him. Somehow, they understood each other on some level that neither wants to over think. And they're okay.

They're okay.


	4. Robert

**A/N**

**Hey. So here is Chapter 4. I'm sort of updating as I go. My process is to write and review what I write until I have what I feel is a good next chapter and then I post it. I wrote this one pretty quickly so I hope you guys like it. I'm introducing more characters now. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and followed this fic. I'm really happy people like it!**

**A**** New**** Life**

**Chapter 4: Robert **

Desmond is initially introduced to Robert de Sable two days after their fight. He meant it when he said it was okay, because it was. On some deep level, he understood that Altair didn't mean what he said. The words hurt, sure, but the older boy had needed to blow off steam. It had to be stressful, having a teenager randomly dumped into your life and you are now completely responsible for their health and well-being. Desmond understood. He got it, somehow.

Altair didn't mean it.

And that's why their daily lunch tradition picks back up without a hitch. It'll be slightly tense for a while, and the subject of parents won't come up for another few months, but nevertheless the tradition continues. It's after one of these, their weekly trip to The Apple to be exact, that Desmond meets Robert.

The brothers had just left the building and were halfway down the street when Desmond was knocked clear off his feet with a harsh shoulder check from a passing pedestrian. Hitting the ground with a loud exhale of air, Desmond fights to get his breath back as Altair roughly drags him back to his feet.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is he alright?" A snide voice Desmond hasn't heard before breaks through his trembling gasps of oxygen. Altair lets out a low noise from the bottom of his throat that is the equivalent to a growl and shoves the younger boy behind him, a hand coiled lightly around the small bicep and the other arm crooked back defensively. Desmond's view is suddenly obscured by broad shoulders covered in black fabric. They're squared back protectively, shielding both Desmond _from_ view and from _viewing_.

"What do you want, Robert?" Altair says lowly, dangerously. His voice is calm but there is an edge to it unlike anything Desmond has heard, a threat so deep you can feel it in the air.

"Nothing, nothing at all, _Altair._" The name rolls off the stranger's tongue in an odd way, like he's mocking but not mocking. Desmond doesn't have the words to explain it. "We were just headed to the diner… didn't mean to knock into your little bro there."

"Stay away from him." Altair's tone leaves no room for argument and Desmond has never heard anyone be this defensive of him, for him. "You don't ever touch him, you got that? He is not and will not be a part of this. You stay the hell away from him."

"Chill, man. It's alright." There's a chuckle, low and dark. "We're just going to the diner." There's footsteps leading away. Desmond tries to catch a glimpse of the man Altair seemed so wary of, but before he can, the older boy is pulling him down the street with a steel grip on his upper arm.

"Altair. Dude, calm down, I'm fine." Desmond attempts to pull his arm free but the grip is unyielding. "Altair!"

"Be quiet, Desmond. Please, please, be quiet. Because I am angry right now and I do not want to yell at you again so please, just be quiet." Altair says breathlessly, still walking with long strides. Desmond has to stumble to keep up with him, but he wisely keeps quiet.

Altair doesn't slow until they've reached the house.

* * *

It happens quickly. One second Desmond is walking next to him and they're talking; the next, the teenager is slamming into the ground. Altair glances over his shoulder as he leans to help the boy up. The anger that fills him at the sight of who knocked Desmond over makes his actions rough as he hauls the boy up.

It's instinct to shove Desmond behind him at the sight of Robert. The man in question sends him a smirk as he speaks that makes Altair's blood boil. Robert tilts his head in his fake concern, trying to see around Altair to get a look at Desmond. Altair squares his posture defensively. He will not let Robert see the kid behind him.

"…didn't mean to knock into your little bro there." There's a feral grin on Robert's face. The threat he is implying is obvious. The surge of protectiveness that runs through the older boy is surprising, but he acts on it.

"Stay away from him."

Altair knows he's probably bruising Desmond's arm with his grip. He's moving quickly, nearly knocking into people as he drags the younger boy home. He's being irrational, he knows, but he's afraid. He can handle Robert, but Desmond can't. Robert has _Desmond_ in his sights now; Desmond, a teenager who's stronger than he looks but just too small to always hold his own or fight back. It's Altair's job to protect him, and that terrifies him. He's now responsible for someone else's safety besides his own.

The older boy faintly registers Desmond's voice saying _something_, but he can't pick up on what it is. _Oh, God. Please be quiet Desmond._ He thinks he may have said that out loud but he isn't sure.

Altair nearly kicks the door down in his haste to get into the house. Desmond tumbles in after him and he slowly unwinds his fingers from the boy's arm. The kid rubs at the skin and in the back of Altair's mind he knows he should be apologizing but he ignores his conscience and stalks into the kitchen. Desmond follows.

"Who was that guy?" It's an innocent enough question. Altair sighs. He should've known he would have to explain this eventually.

"Robert de Sable." Altair crosses his arms. Desmond raises an eyebrow. Reading into the unspoken question, Altair sighs again. "He runs a gang in town called the Templars. I suppose you could say we're… mortal enemies; him and his followers versus me and my friends."

"_You_ have friends?" Desmond says with a coy smile. The boy is still opening up. That's part of why Altair can't get mad at the comment. "You're so antisocial though, mister-tough-guy."

"Haha. Yes, I have friends. You've already met Rebecca and Lucy." After their first meeting at The Apple, Rebecca and Desmond had become pretty good acquaintances. Lucy was another waitress at the diner, Rebecca's friend. She was closer to Desmond's age, a blonde eighteen year old with a kind heart and a stern determination. She and Desmond had become quick friends. They weren't close, to say, but they got along. Altair had known both girls for several years.

Altair continues. "Anyways, Robert and I have never gotten along. Our groups fight a lot, with both words and fists. Actual brawls are pretty rare but they never end well."

"Why do you guys hate each other so much?" Altair is gradually calming down, and Desmond is staring at him intensely.

"He's a bully. I don't like bullies; especially ones that get away with everything." Desmond grunts in understanding, scowling. Altair quirks a tiny smile because it looks like the kid hates people like Robert just as much as he does.

"So you try to stop him from the doing the crap that he does?" Altair nods and Desmond frowns, thinking about something he doesn't seem to want to share.

"Yeah, I've spent a long time doing that. Unfortunately for me, Robert isn't a big fan of… mercenaries." Altair's right hand travels up to trace over the scar marring his lips. Desmond's eyes widen as he seems to connect the dots.

"Oh. Oh, Altair, dude, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." Desmond seems suddenly frantic, worried. Altair huffs quietly and raises a hand to silence the younger boy.

"It's okay. It's part of me now; I don't mind talking about it." It's true. He doesn't mind speaking about the scar. He's proud of it. It's a story, it's him now.

Altair looks at Desmond, really looks. The kid is smart, and can take care of himself. He's done it for a while, if his unease to ask for help and to trust is anything to go by. Altair needs Desmond to trust him on this. He knows Robert. He knows not to underestimate him.

"Look, Desmond." Altair places a hand on Desmond's shoulder to make sure he has the teenager's attention. "Robert is bad news. Today, he put you on his radar. I don't think he will try anything bad, but _please_, look out for him. Stay in public places and be home by curfew if you go anywhere. If something happens or you think something will, you find me, got it? Call me, or something."

"Okay." It's all Desmond says, but there is caution in his eyes now. Altair knows the kid will be smart. He won't be caught unawares if he can help it.

That does little to ease the ugly feeling rising in his gut that something's going to happen. And, later that night, when Desmond falls asleep while they're watching a movie, if Altair rolls up the kid's sleeve and lightly fingers the yellowing bruise that forms a perfect model of his own fingers, then that's nobody's business but his.

* * *

Desmond officially _meets _Robert de Sable the day after he is introduced to him. He's coming home from having ice cream with Lucy and Rebecca (and Shaun, who he happened to meet that night. The red-haired British man is around Altair's age, another member of their group of friends) and it's close to curfew. But it isn't so close that Desmond won't be home in time. He's already a bombshell surprise in Altair's life, even if the older boy won't admit it, and he won't make Altair worry. He also doesn't know how the older boy will react to him breaking a rule. He hasn't gotten in trouble yet.

Desmond is halfway home when it happens. It's roughly 9:30 at night and Desmond knows he'll be home by 9:45 at the latest. The boy rounds the corner into the neighborhood and almost stops dead. There's a group of four guys, big guys that are all leaning casually against someone's fence. Desmond hesitates slightly, but keeps walking down the side-walk with purpose. He knows that if you look like you know exactly where you're going and walk with confidence that people are less likely to bother you. He tries to ignore the fact that the group of boys push off the fence and follow along at a safe distance away.

"Excuse me?" One of them calls out and Desmond almost winces. He takes a deep shuddering breath, pressing down on the fear and ignoring it. He looks over his shoulder and turns so that he is walking backwards. He doesn't stop moving, but he'll give them the impression that he doesn't know who they are.

"Can I help you?" One of the boys grins. Desmond absolutely does not let out a tiny noise of surprise when he back right into someone else.

"We're lost, can you help us?" Desmond freezes because he knows that voice, remembers it. He turns slowly to see a large man around Altair's age, probably a little older. He's _huge_, towering over Desmond. He's bald, and Desmond would have laughed if he wasn't so afraid. It looks like he shaves his head, and he has a small amount of stubble on his chin. Desmond just blinks at him. He smiles wolfishly.

"You're Robert." Desmond says slowly, glancing around cautiously. The other four boys are still several feet away. The man in front of him laughs and leans down closer.

"And the kid gets the prize." Robert pats Desmond's cheek with a large hand the boy steps back violently, glaring. Robert seems unaffected. "Anyways, we're looking for Borgia Street. Do you know where that is?"

"You're not here for that." Desmond's voice comes out harder than he intends. Robert's smile turns more into a smirk.

"Oh, and he's smart too, seeing our evil plan," The low voice is dripping with sarcasm. "Obviously we're here to find the Ibn-La'Ahad house. Do you know where _that_ is? Or, maybe, we're here to find _you_?"

Upon hearing footsteps pick back up behind him, Desmond's mind goes into overdrive. He does the only thing he thinks is smart. He runs.

And he runs like hell.

Desmond has always been quick. Small stature and long legs makes it easy to round sharp corners and dodge obstacles. He doesn't know how close they are but he can hear footsteps. He runs for nearly half a block (in the opposite direction of home; he won't lead them to Altair if they really don't know where they live) before he takes evasive action. Desmond slides around the side of a house and dodges through a backyard. He's slowly become familiar with these streets over the past couple weeks and he prays he has the advantage.

Climbing a fence is easy, so Desmond scrambles over the first one he finds and dives into the flower bed. He coils himself beneath the thick foliage of a bush and waits. No one else comes into the yard, but he waits another fifteen minutes to be sure. And then he bolts back to his house. It's almost 10:15 when he hits their street. Altair is just coming out of the house, most likely looking for him, when he slams into him. Large hands catch his shoulders and Desmond looks up and almost immediately starts apologizing.

* * *

_He's late._

Desmond has never missed curfew before and Altair is worried. After seeing Robert the day before, he knows that it's a strong possibility that Desmond is being harassed by the other man's thugs somewhere. He gives the younger boy fifteen minutes before deciding to go after him.

He isn't expecting the teenager himself to come barreling into him the second he steps out the door. It's only from years of training and good reflexes that Altair is able to quickly catch the boy by the shoulders. Desmond looks up. His pupils are wide with adrenaline and he's gasping for air.

"I'm sorry! I'm late, I know, I'm sorry, Altair!" Desmond is nearly frantic in his apologies, likes he's afraid he's in trouble. Altair can't even decide if Desmond _should _be in trouble until he finds out why he's late. "I was coming home from hanging out with Rebecca and Lucy and I ran into Robert and then I ran away and-"

The kid keeps talking but Altair's mind hangs on 'ran into Robert'. He squeezes the kid's shoulders tightly and asks if he's alright. Desmond is too panicked to even notice.

"Desmond!" Altair shakes him once, roughly. "Are you hurt?"

The relief he feels at Desmond's tiny 'no' between gasps is so great that he nearly causes him to sink to his knees. He stays steady though and calmly leads the younger boy into the house. Desmond is still mumbling at him, gesturing with his hands as he speaks.

"And I just ran because I had a really bad feeling and I don't even know why he was really here and…" He trails off and looks up at the older boy, brown eyes meeting gold. "He scares me, Altair."

"Yeah." Altair walks with Desmond into his bedroom and ruffles his hair before leaving. "He does that to everybody, kid."


	5. Malik

**A/N**

**Okay. So here's chapter 5. I actually had a dream about how Malik and Desmond would meet in the this story and I figured I would just go with it. I hope the character's seem realistic. This chapter's a little shorter than the last couple, but I hope it's still good. I'm glad that everyone seems to be liking my story. So thanks for reading. Feel free to review if you'd like, I do my best to read and respond to any that I get right away. Hopefully chapter 6 will be up soon! (you know, as soon as I write it)**

**A New Life**

**Chapter 5: Malik**

The day Desmond meets Altair's best friend, he nearly falls off a roof.

He meets the man on accident when he forgets his key. It's been a week since his run-in with Robert, and Desmond could not be more annoyed with himself. Given his new caution for strangers, he doesn't really want to sit outside alone until Altair gets back to let him in. He paces around on the porch for several seconds before remembering that the back door opens if you jiggle-slash-push the door handle correctly. He saw Altair do it once a few days after he arrived when the older boy got his own key stuck in the front door's lock and needed to fix it from the inside.

It takes a while, but eventually Desmond figures out that if he presses his shoulder just above the lock and twists the knob until it nearly breaks then the door will creak open (if you continuously slam your shoulder into it). Desmond expects to walk into a dark, empty house.

He isn't expecting to see a random stranger standing in their kitchen with a sandwich and the television remote. The man turns and Desmond just stares at him.

"Hey."

Desmond is out the door before his mind even registers what the voice had said. The man swears loudly behind him and he hears footsteps. Desmond swings himself around the side of the house and, using the side window frame as a foothold, he launches himself scrambling up the brickwork to the roof of the house. He started free running when he was thirteen, and, although he wasn't an expert, he could easily climb up and down buildings with good hand and footholds. Crouching on the edge of the roof like a gargoyle, the teenager watches as the stranger comes around the corner and stops beneath him. Desmond quietly pulls out his phone and sends a text to Altair. He doesn't know how the guy got in or why he was just chilling out in their house, but he isn't coming down until Altair gets back.

The man pulls out his phone and sends a text to someone before tilting his head back and calling, "I know you're up there, Desmond."

"How do you know my name?" Desmond narrows his eyes as the man turns to face him. He's got dark hair and he looks tall, around Altair's height and age. He also only has one arm. Desmond tries not to get too hung up on that.

"Everyone knows your name. Anyways, will you please come down before your brother gets back because if he comes home and finds out that I've scared you onto a roof he's going to kill me. Although, I must say, you two are _very _much alike considering you've only known each other for two months." Desmond scrunches his nose in confusion and the man merely smirks cryptically. Desmond raises an eyebrow calmly and sits back on the roof.

"Who are you, then? If you know me, then I think I should know you before I come down." The man grins at his question and puts his hand in his pocket.

"You come down and I'll tell you. I'm serious, kid; I'd really prefer not to have Altair come home to this." Desmond just grins, acting far more cocky than he feels. On the inside, he's terrified because he doesn't know who this guy is. It's a small town, everyone knows who Altair is. He could easily be a Templar. So he'll wait until the stranger tells him or Altair gets back.

Desmond can be _excruciatingly _patient when he wants to be.

* * *

Altair is just leaving the gym when his phone rings. He glances at it and goes pale (or as pale as someone as tan as him can get).

_Someone's in the house- Desmond_

The older boy would have taken off at the dead run if his phone hadn't buzzed again directly after the first message. His initial fear disappears and he just stares at his phone in exasperation.

_Hey, so I may have scared your little bro. Sorry, dude- Malik_

Altair just sighs and walks home as quickly as he can. He's just hoping that Malik was able to calm Desmond down. He does not want to have to find the kid. He's skittish and hides well.

He's surprised when he comes home to a one-armed man telling a teenager to 'get off the roof'. He was expecting a frightened, on-edge Desmond safely on the ground and maybe hiding in his room. Instead, the younger boy is sitting cross-legged on the roof and watching the man below wearily. Malik looks annoyed, staring up at Desmond as if he could magically will the boy back to the ground.

"So I see you've met Malik." The comment is directed at Desmond, whose head snaps around to look at the familiar face of his brother. "I must say this was not how I imagined your first meeting."

Desmond looks visibly relieved and he stands, balancing on the edge of the roof on the balls of his feet. "So you do know this guy?"

"Desmond, meet Malik. We've been good friends for almost six years." Altair had met the other boy in his second year of high school. Their relationship had been tense at first (in other words, they hated each other), but it gradually got better. They've been close ever since. "Malik, the teenaged dork on the roof is Desmond."

Malik shoots a cocky wave at the younger boy. Desmond just looks at him before turning back to Altair. "So I can come down now?"

"Yes; how did you even get up there?" Malik laughs at Altair's question. Altair looks at him.

"I'll give you a hint: he is seriously _just_ like you."

At that moment, Desmond quite literally _leaps_ off of the roof. The teenager hits the ground on one foot and falls into a perfect shoulder roll. He stands easily and then turns to face Altair once again. The older boy just stares at him. _Does this kid ever stop being full of surprises?_

"You're into Parkour?" Altair says incredulously. Desmond frowns at him and asks, eloquently as always, 'what the hell that is'. Altair huffs a quiet laugh that's half fondness and half exasperation. "It's a fancy word for an advanced form of freerunning."

The kid just nods at him and rubs the back of his neck (seriously, Altair notices the kid doing that _constantly_). Altair looks over Desmond's head at Malik. The other man shoots him a wry grin.

"You seriously couldn't wait until I got home to hang in our house? Desmond didn't even know you existed, let alone that you know the back door trick." Altair can see the light bulb go off for Desmond. Now the kid knows why Malik was in the house. "By the way, Desmond, this idiot never knocks. So make sure to check if it's him or an actual burglar before the whole 'fight or flight' thing." The kid just nods at him with a smile.

"Malik, do you want to stay for dinner? I'm cooking, since Altair kind of sucks at it." The older brother protests loudly. "Oh, be quiet, you almost set _pasta_ on _fire_ last week. You can barely make toast."

"Offering me food _and_ making fun of you?" Malik says with a smirk as he strides past Altair into the house. "I like him."

* * *

It isn't until later that night when Malik has gone back to his own house that Desmond asks. He tried valiantly not to stare but it was hard.

"What happened to him?" It comes out quietly and frightened. Altair turned to look at him. Desmond hesitates; he afraid to ask this question. It's personal and he doesn't know how Altair will react. It's true that his trust in the older boy had increased over the past month but he couldn't help but be weary. He was trained to be that way.

"What?" Altair prompts. Desmond notices, of course, that Altair never answers a vague question. He thinks it's the older boy's way of getting him to ask what he really wants to know, to open up.

"To Malik's arm, I mean. Where… did it go?" He looks at Altair's suddenly stricken face and almost immediately backpedals. "Not that you have to tell me or anything. I shouldn't have asked; I'm just going to go clean the kitchen-" He turns away in the middle of his rant, attempting to flee into the safety of a different room. He can't hide the flinch when the large hand coils around his wrist.

The hand is gentle when it tugs him back to sit on the couch. Desmond's hand inches towards the back of his neck. Altair catches it. "It's okay. You can be curious, Desmond. If I don't want to tell you something, you'll know. Why didn't you ask Malik?"

"I don't know him. Maybe it's a touchy subject." Desmond looks down to where Altair's calloused fingers are curled around his own in a protective cocoon, keeping him from the habit born of shyness. "What caused him to lose it?"

"Me."

Desmond's head nearly snaps off with how fast he moves to look at his brother. Altair's face is passive, expressionless, but it's forced. He stands and paces away from the couch, calmly walking back and forth as he speaks.

"Or at least it was partly me. It was raining, and I was driving. Malik was in the passenger seat. I wasn't looking and I got impatient and I ran a red light. Another car t-boned us on Malik's side of the car. We rolled. His arm got caught in the bent metal of the door and they couldn't save it." Altair rubs a hand over his face.

"At least you survived," Desmond attempts to be optimistic in light of the revelation he's just been told. Altair laughs and it sounds almost more like a choking cry.

"Kadar didn't. He was Malik's little brother." Altair collapses suddenly so he's sitting cross-legged in the floor. "I lost my car, the other guy went prison. Malik lost his arm and his brother. That isn't a fair trade."

"I'm sorry." Desmond says quietly.

Altair looks up at him, his face still oddly blank. "It happened during our sophomore year of high school- a month after we initially met. I offered to give them a ride home. Malik... Malik hated me for two years. Somehow, we became friends again. I did everything I could to prove myself worthy of his trust. I still don't deserve it, but Malik somehow gave it to me. He still won't get in a car."

Desmond won't say that it wasn't Altair's fault. That doesn't help. It never does with guilt. A grim silence descends over the room. Desmond almost leaves, but decides better of it. Instead, he does what he does best; he changes the topic.

"Are you any good at freerunning? Parkour? Or whatever you called it." That seems to catch the older boy's interest and he looks up, eyes bright with sudden mischief.

"Are you kidding? I am the best. I could beat you at it any day of the week, _kid_." Altair smirks and stands. Desmond can't resist to challenge him ("show me"). The older boy quickly leaves and comes back with two pairs of leather gloves with bright plates of rough metal attached to the palms and fingertips. He throws one set at Desmond's face ("you're on").

Soon enough, they're on the roof. It's the first time Desmond has ever worn gloves while doing this, but he's excited. The metal allows more strength than the fragile skin of his fingers (He's fallen off enough roofs to know how much it hurts to catch yourself). Altair pulls the hood of his black hoodie down over his face and glances once over his shoulder at Desmond. The younger boy copies him, the white hood sliding up and over.

"Think you can keep up?" And then they're moving, Altair taking off on the dead run and leaping down onto a neighbor's fence, perching there like a large bird. Desmond is hot on his heels, even if he teeters a bit on the landing.

"Oh, I _know_ I can."


	6. Twins

**A/N**

**Hey so here is Chapter 6! It took a little while longer but it's also the longest chapter I've written so far. I've planned to put this in the story since the beginning and I really hope that you guys like what I did with this chapter. I'm hoping to post the next chapter soon. There will be a new character in the next chapter (his involvement will be based on a suggestion I got from a reviewer) so you have that to look forwards to. I hope you like this chapter as much as people have liked the previous ones. Feel free to review (I make sure to read all of them). I'm just happy people like my story, so thanks for reading!**

**A ****New**** Life**

**Chapter 6: Twins**

He went for a walk. That's all he did. He just went for a walk. It was cloudy, but warm and he wanted to go outside for a little bit before curfew. It was a nice night at first. But when the sky opened up and started to rain on him, he couldn't help but think that it was mocking him.

Desmond groans as he stands, wiping dirt and mud off his cheek from where his face had connected with the ground. He'd started walking faster when the first couple of drops had started to fall and had yanked his hood down, hunkering into his hoodie to stay as dry as possible. He never saw the other body coming.

The blow came in the form of a broad shoulder connecting into his back. The teenager fell into a nearby alley face-first, unable to get his hands out of his pockets in time. When he finally managed to rise, he turned to squint through the rain at his attacker.

"What do you want?" Desmond can't keep the slight edge of fear from his voice. This is too much of a coincidence. There's no one around due to the weather and they're in the quieter part of town; no people on the streets and no one in the buildings will be paying attention to what they hear, or report it if on the off-chance they do.

Robert calmly comes forward. Desmond doesn't move because he just has a feeling that there are people behind him or nearby. Robert isn't often alone, not in a town full of people who both fear and hate him. He's proved correctly when hands are suddenly gripping his elbows and wrenching his arms behind his back. There are at least two of them. He struggles and manages not to flinch in surprise, but it's hard to get the upper hand with no arms and a severe height disadvantage. His hood is wrenched back and the rain pelts onto his face.

"I don't think we've really gotten to know each other yet." The man says lowly, almost purring at Desmond like he's a child. The fist is surprising when it connects with his cheek, but the boy manages to bite back the noise of pain.

He's laughing when he turns his head back, the defense of hatred and sarcasm coming up. "I don't particularly _want_ to know you." He gets a slap for that, sending his skull rocking back painfully.

"Oh come on, Desmond. Don't be cheeky. We're trying to be friends here." Robert spreads his arms, form blurry through the water, like that's supposed to impress him. Desmond almost spits at him, but his ears are still ringing so he resists.

"So friends hit their friends, now? Is that the trend?" Robert just grins. This time the opposite hand comes, connecting hard with the younger boys jaw. Desmond bites his tongue on accident and tastes blood. He struggles again against the boys holding his arms.

There's water in his eyes. He blinks uselessly.

"Just with you."

A knee hits his diaphragm. He gasps for air as his knees almost buckle. Another slap. It hurts. Desmond can barely think when another fist connects just over his left eye. The only thought: _it hurts it hurts it hurts. Stop. Please stop. _He doesn't speak, doesn't beg, doesn't let out any sound. He won't give the satisfaction.

"You're a quiet one, aren't you? Usually they're begging by now." Another hit, so hard Desmond swear his teeth rattle. His lip splits. His eye is starting to swell. He sends a weak, bloody smile at the man in front of him.

"Yeah, and usually someone buys you dinner before things get 'physical'." Robert laughs at that before giving some sort of hand signal. Desmond is released and he stumbles before a foot connects with his chest. He lands on his back, rain thudding against his limp form. He's gagging again for air, panting. There are shapes above him, reaching for his arms. His arm moves of its own accord, elbow connecting with someone's nose. There's a satisfying crack.

He lashes out again and connects with a wrist. His knuckles split against the metal watch.

"Hold him _down_!" Robert practically yells as Desmond nearly kicks him. Hands are latching onto his arms and legs. _So, three or four then._ He doesn't stop thrashing, won't stop fighting whatever is about to happen. A foot landing on his throat is what finally stills him. The boot presses down with the barest of pressure, but the message is clear.

"That's better, now, isn't it?" Robert kneels on his chest, having stepped away from his neck. He sneers down into Desmond's face, mouth twisted in some form of triumph.

"Why are you doing this? I haven't done anything to you." Desmond spits blood away from his lips as he speaks, tongue still bleeding. He's lucky that Robert hasn't hit him so hard he's unconscious. His head hurts but he's awake and aware.

"It's simple, really. You belong to Altair in a way; he's your guardian. Altair is protective of you, loves you, even if he doesn't know it yet. _You are Altair's_. And after what he's done, I will hurt Altair through any way that I can." Desmond lets out a soft noise mixed with fear and pain as the large form on his chest shifts ever so slightly. "I will break him, one way or the other."

The younger boy doesn't know what Altair did to Robert de Sable to make him so mad, but he suspects that it's not something he should ask about. Anger builds, though, as it sinks in that he's being _used_ to hurt Altair. Desmond is protective too, and he snarls upwards with red-stained teeth.

"Go to hell." And he spits at the older boy's face, defense for his brother making him braver. Robert's large hand catches his jaw in a vice-grip, his thumb sliding through the mixture of blood and rain on Desmond's chin. He leans down slowly, mouth next to the boy's ear. The dark chuckle leaves Desmond's skin crawling.

"That's the plan."

* * *

To say Altair wasn't internally freaking out would be a lie (who was he kidding, he'd been pacing for half an hour). He looks up at the clock again. _He's two hours late. _It's midnight and Desmond is nowhere to be found. He's already called everyone. Lucy, Rebecca, Shaun, Malik. None of them had seen him. Altair had spent an hour wandering the town in the rain, searching until the downpour got too heavy to see through. Even then, Malik had to convince him through the phone to stop and go home. Wherever Desmond was, Altair was giving him until sunrise to be back or he was calling the police. And then when they found him he was going to kill him for making him worry.

_Unless he's already dead._ A voice oh-so-helpfully reminded him in the back of his mind.

12:05

_Oh god what if he _is _dead_.

12:10

_No, don't be stupid. He's just late. It's not like it's your fault, he knows the town by now. Maybe he's just lost._

12:15

_He's lost. Great job, Altair, you lost him. How do you lose a teenager?_

12:20

_Social service is going to _kill-

The door clicked open, the noise so quiet it was unsettling against Altair's racing thoughts. He wheeled around just in time to see a soaking wet Desmond standing hunched in the shadowed entrance, silently pushing the door shut with one hand. His hood was low over his face and he shoved his hands into his pockets as he toed off his muddy shoes. Altair, for once, doesn't just stare at him, and reacts.

"Where have you been?" He manages to say it at a normal volume, but the tone is harsh, the words sharp. "Do you have _any_ idea how long I was out in the _rain_ looking for you? It's been over two _hours, _Desmond. I was worried sick, thinking you'd gone and _died_ or something!"

"I was waiting out the storm in a corner-store and when it didn't let up after a while, I decided to just come home." Desmond's voice is oddly hoarse, broken sounding and far too quiet, even for him. "Sorry. It was a mess out there."

"Why didn't you text me or something?" Altair has reached the entryway by now. Desmond leans away, shoulders pressed against the door. He hunches his head lower, like he's trying to hide.

"…Forgot my phone." The hesitation raises Altair's suspicions higher. He steps closer. Desmond shifts away, sliding further into shadow.

"Desmond?" Altair reaches towards him slightly with one hand. He winced. Altair withdraws, brows furrowed with hurt and confusion.

The kid flinched away from him. The kid who was quickly becoming _his_ kid had flinched away from _him_.

"Desmond." Altair doesn't keep the hurt out of his voice. He gets a sharp, shaky inhale in response.

"I'm tired, Altair. I just want to sleep. Can I sleep?" Desmond starts to walk around him, heading towards his room. He keeps his head down. Altair is about to say 'yeah' and leave it be when Desmond passes into a patch of light streaming out of the kitchen.

There's blood on the collar of his hoodie.

Altair is surging forwards before he can stop himself, latching his right hand around Desmond's wrist. The kid goes ramrod straight and immediately starts trying to pull away. Altair just manages to wrench the younger boy's hood down when he in turn wrenches back, staggering into a wall. Altair catches a glimpse of dark purple and red.

The older boy glances down at his now damp hand and feels sick at the red tint to what he thought was rain water. He reaches for the light switch. Desmond is breathing heavily.

"Please don't. Don't look." It's less than a whisper. "Oh god, Altair, please don't ask. I can't."

Altair just stares at the shaking form of his little brother. He doesn't want to hurt Desmond, but… "I have to." And he flips the switch. Desmond flinches at the sudden brightness, but doesn't move to hide or draw his hood. Altair doesn't know whether to take that as a sign of trust or a sign of fear. The older boy steps closer.

"Desmond…" Altair's hand rises again towards the younger boy's face. Desmond scuttles away against the wall.

It's a mess. Desmond has managed to keep the right half of his face in the shadow of the corner but the rest of him is illuminated. Altair blanches at what he sees. The kid has a black eye and a split lower lip. His left cheekbone is bruising spectacularly and there's another dark smudge stretching down his jaw, peeking out from the darkness he's using as a shield. He's covered in mud and red is smeared all over the lower half of his face and his neck. The collar of his hoodie is tinged in scarlet and Altair's eyes linger on each wound.

Desmond shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny, and accidentally tilts his head into full view. Altair's hands clench and he sees red because there's only one person who would do this.

"I'm going to kill him." It's a snarl, low and feral in his throat. Desmond winces and his breath hitches loudly, choking off in a barely contained sob. Altair could ignore the mottled bruising coating the kid's face. He could ignore the split lip and the cuts on his knuckles. But he isn't looking at any of that. He can't ignore what's there on Desmond's face. Bruises heal and blood dries, but this is unforgivable.

Because there, evident in the mess of crimson that covers Desmond's jaw line like some sort of gruesome beard, is a long, deep line carved through his lips; a mark that is ever so frighteningly like his own.

* * *

Robert had stayed on his chest, sneering taunts into Desmond's face. The boy didn't listen; words had become meaningless to him.

"Are you listening to me?" He's snapped out of his mind by a sharp uppercut to the jaw. He bites his tongue again and gags on blood. A garbled, loud noise of pain tears out of his throat.

"It speaks!" Robert sounds so triumphant about it. It breaks something in Desmond's will. A noise that's a startling mixture of agony and humor rips from his lips and doesn't stop. He can't tell whether he's laughing or crying. Robert catches his jaw again in a stern grip.

"Shh…" Robert murmurs at him, fruitlessly wiping away the few tears that had spilled in the rain. He ends up smearing blood from the split lip up Desmond's face. "None of that, none of that." He tilts Desmond's head back and forth and hums low in his throat. Desmond is suddenly afraid, deathly afraid.

"He really does look _just _like his brother, doesn't he, boys?" There's a glint of silver in the glittering streaks of water falling through the dark. "He's only missing one thing." There's a chuckle from someone. Desmond's eyes are blown wide now, and he's shaking uncontrollably. He clenches his eyes shut at the feel of warm breath by his ear.

"Should we fix that?"

Desmond screams when the knife touches his lips.

* * *

God, they really do look alike now. Same face, same inevitable scar.

Altair doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to coax Desmond away from the wall. He can't grab him; the kid just had the crap beat out of him, using physical force will make him more scared than he is. Altair remains silent and just stares. That is, until he hears the choked, nearly silent crying through the pounding of rain on the roof. He can't tell what's tears and what's left-over rain on Desmond's tan skin, but it tugs at Altair's heart so hard that he forces himself to be as gentle as possible.

Altair's voice is uneven when he starts to speak. It's the most emotion he's allowed himself to show. He tries something new, the only idea he has to convince Desmond that he's _different_. That he is not going to hurt him.

"Come here… _Come here_, Des." He keeps his voice low and soothing, while still placing as much desperate conviction as he can into his tone. The new use of the nickname gets the younger boy's attention and he _finally _looks at Altair. "Let me look at you."

_Let _me look at you, not I'm _going_ to look at you. He's giving Desmond the choice to run. The younger boy is shaking as he comes forwards, but he does come. He comes until his hands, so much smaller than Altair's, are subconsciously tangling into the front of the older boy's t-shirt. It breaks his heart that Desmond so desperately needed comfort, but he was too scared to ask for it. Altair reached up with careful fingers and cups his brother's jaw in his palm. He strokes the fingertips of his other hand over bruises and blood. Desmond starts to cry harder when he runs, feather-light, over the gash now marring the boy's face.

Altair makes a shushing noise at him. "Let me see you."

The older boy examines the split flesh. The wound is still bleeding, oozing crimson over Desmond's face. Altair is painstakingly careful when he untangles Desmond's injured hand from his shirt. He keeps his face still, refusing to show pity or any form of emotion that may give Desmond the wrong idea about how he feels. He's furious at Robert, but Desmond may think it's directed at him if he sees it. He tugs lightly at the younger boy's hand.

"C'mere, Des. It's okay." He keeps his hand curled around the boy's jaw to make sure he doesn't stretch the wound and injure himself more. A cut like that is painful; he knows from experience. Walking backwards, Altair leads Desmond through his bedroom into the bathroom. He helps the younger boy slide up until he's sitting on the counter next to the sink. The kid is still silently crying and Altair doesn't know whether it's from pain or something else.

As a trainer at the gym, Altair was required to take a first aid course. That's the only reason Desmond isn't in a hospital. Altair knows how to take care of him, and he has the right supplies in his gym bag. He turns to get them and the hand tightens against his stomach. Altair taps his fingertips lightly against taut knuckles. Desmond is still shaking, and Altair prays he doesn't go into full shock.

"You need to let go, Desmond." He hopes repeating the kid's name will keep his mind in the here and now with Altair, in their too-warm bathroom with the sound of rain and wind outside. "I'm only going a few feet away, okay?" Desmond stares at him, eyes wide.

"I don't want to be alone…" He admits quietly. "I was alone when they… when he attacked me. I tried to fight them, but… Oh, god. I'm so sorry." Altair grabs Desmond's head between his hands.

"This is not your fault, understand? This is _not_ your fault. Not now, not ever. It's Robert's. It isn't anyone's fault but his." Desmond nods shakily. Altair nods back and tries to back away again. This time Desmond lets him go, his fingers slowly sliding away and into his lap.

Altair hurries when he grabs the kit from his bag. When he comes back, Desmond looks slightly calmer, although not by much. He has hunched into himself again, and Altair knows that the pain is coming full force now that the adrenaline is gone. He gets to work.

It takes a little while to work Desmond out of his drenched hoodie, the zipper sticking with blood and mud and the fabric slick with water. Altair eventually manages to finish peeling it away from the teenager's arms. Desmond shucks off his shoes and pants, leaving him in his boxers. He scans over Desmond's t-shirt clad upper body for anymore signs of injury. He feels along his ribs and when the younger boy shows no reaction, he figures that everything is fine. He'll be sure to keep an eye out throughout the next couple days.

Altair cleans Desmond's face with a wet rag, gingerly rubbing away blood, rain and tears. The younger boy just stares up at him with wide eyes. Altair switches the rag for a bag of cotton balls and pulls out a bottle of disinfecting alcohol. He's gentle when he rubs the soaked piece of cotton over the tiny nick on Desmond's cheek and the split in his lower lip. Desmond flinches and hisses out a whimper when he dabs at the massive cut, and Altair coos a soft apology at him. He's never been this careful with anyone in his life.

"Your mouth needs stitches. I don't have strong enough pain meds to keep you from feeling it. Are you okay with this? I can take you to a hospital." Altair ducks his head to keep eye contact with the younger boy, needing him to understand what needs to be done.

"No." Desmond's voice comes out steady for the first time since he came home. "I want you to do it. I don't… I don't trust anybody else to do it." Warmth spreads through Altair's chest and he sends a tiny reassuring smile.

"You sure?" He isn't an expert and it's going to hurt a lot more if he does it than if a trained professional were to go shoving a needle through the kid's face.

"I'm sure."

Desmond is oddly still when Altair stitches the gash shut. He doesn't even wince. The only sign he gives of pain is when he reaches for the older boy's hand midway through the upper section of stitches. Altair's hand is busy steadying his head so Desmond settles for coiling his fingers around the larger wrist and gripping tightly.

Altair lets him. He's just finishing tightening the last stitch on Desmond's chin when the boy speaks.

"He was laughing." Desmond winces at the new tightness in his lips from the thin black thread. Altair stopped his motions and locked eyes. "When he... He was laughing when he sliced into my face."

Altair doesn't have an answer for that, doesn't have a comfort, so he settles for rubbing his finger tips through Desmond's hair in what he hopes is a soothing manner. He cleans the kid's split knuckles and tapes tiny pieces of gauze to every little cut that the younger boy sustained. After he sends the kid to bed, Altair ends up just throwing Desmond's hoodie and jeans into the washing machine with a desperate prayer that they will come out clean and blood-free. He naïvely has a hope that he can wash the memories away with the clothes, but he knows that life doesn't work like that.

And that night, when Altair leans against the doorway to Desmond's room (because watching the younger boy sleep is oddly reassuring), he'll end up staring at the glaringly white bandage he'd packed over the stitches for a good ten minutes. The gauze nearly glows in the dark it's so pale against Desmond's skin, and Altair doesn't know whether to feel guilty or utterly homicidal.


	7. A New Face

**A/N**

**Okay Chapter 7 is FINALLY up! I am so so so so so SO sorry for the wait. I don't really have an excuse. I've been busy lately but I know that isn't a reason to wait so long to update. In all honesty guys, I _struggled_ with this chapter. I must have started over at least twenty times. I knew what I wanted to put into this chapter but I really didn't know how to write it. Hopefully this is okay. I promise to have the next chapter up sooner! Once again, so sorry. I hope you guys like this new chapter, I know it's not super long. Please read and enjoy!**

**A New Life**

**Chapter 7: A New Face  
**

Desmond starts learning to fight two days after he's attacked. The stitches are still in his lip, though the massive bandage is gone, and the bruising on his face has changed from an ugly mottled purple to an ugly mottled _bluish _purple (which everyone knows looks _much_ better). The swelling in his eye had gone down and he could see again, which was a relief. It happens on accident, actually, when Desmond decides to bring Altair his forgotten phone. He'd been in a rush and left it behind when he left that morning, and Desmond woke early to Malik's obnoxious ring-tone. He'd ended up asking the older boy for directions to the gym and (one backwards sweatshirt, piece of toast, and pair of mix-matched socks later) was out the door.

Upon entering the gym, Desmond was met with a mixture of odd glances and full-blown stares, although he didn't know whether it was over the fact his face was several different colors or because he looked just like Altair. He found the older boy soon enough, slamming his fists into a bag in the corner. There was another man with him. Desmond ignored him.

"Altair!" His voice echoed around the large space and drew far more attention than he would have liked. The man in question turned, wiping sweat away from his face.

"Desmond? What are you doing here?" Desmond responded by tossing the phone at Altair's chest. The older boy caught it easily, quirking his lips at Desmond. "For me? You shouldn't have!" Desmond shoots him a wry look. The teenager is about to leave when the stranger with Altair speaks.

"_Merda, _what happened to you, _il mio amico_?" The voice is thickly and obviously Italian. Desmond doesn't turn around, his shoulders tensing. He doesn't want to talk about his attack. A hand lands on his shoulder, and Desmond would've punched the guy if he hadn't recognized Altair's grip at the last second.

The older boy turns him around slowly, but Desmond doesn't look up or towards the other man. He knows he's being rude, but new people make him weary. Altair leans down into his line of sight.

"It's okay, Des. This is Ezio Auditore, my cousin." _That_ gets Desmond's attention, and his head snaps up so fast it's painful. The Italian grins at him widely.

Ezio, somehow, looks immensely like the two brothers. It's sort of shocking, given the wide smile. It's odd to see that expression on someone who looks so much like Altair. It isn't exactly the same; he's tanner and his face is more angular. He has a beard. Ezio looks to be around twenty, somewhere between Desmond and Altair, but closer to the elder's age. He has longer, dark hair that's pulled back into a ponytail. He's buff, muscles rippling out from a tank-top. His shoulders aren't as broad as Altair's, but there's still a frightening amount of resemblance.

"We have a family?" Desmond looks up at Altair, shocked beyond belief. He has a _cousin_.

"Well…" Altair stretches the word out. "He's technically only related to me, a cousin thrice removed or something on my mom's side. I have no idea how he ended up looking so much like us. But yes, I suppose you could say there is more to our family." Desmond turns back to look at Ezio.

The Italian boy seems to be examining Desmond as strictly as he had studied him in turn. His bright smile falls when his eyes meet the dark stitches etched into the younger boy's mouth.

"_Anche voi?_" At Desmond's look of confusion, Ezio specifies, motioning at his lip. "You too?" For the first time, the younger boy sees the faint white line on Ezio's face; another matching scar hidden in dark facial hair. It's fainter and thinner, definitely not as gruesome as either of the brothers'. Desmond raises his eyebrows. "It would seem that Robert rather _strongly_ dislikes anyone related to Altair Ibn'La-Ahad."

"At least you could fight back." Altair says lowly, eyes flitting over Desmond's face like he can somehow make the wounds disappear by sheer will-power. Ezio laughs at that. Desmond gets the feeling that almost nothing can dampen this man's spirits.

"I will teach him, then." Desmond just keeps looking between them, eyes wide. _What? _Altair seems to be genuinely considering it.

"If you really want to, go ahead. I've tried to find time to fit it into my schedule but so far I've had no luck. And there's no one I can think of who'd be better to teach him than you," At Desmond's skeptical, pointed look, Altair adds: "Oh, relax, Des. You need to learn how to fight, just in case you get attacked again; just simple stuff. I'd teach you if I could, but I've been busy, you know, _working_ to earn enough money to pay for your weekly milkshake fix."

Desmond punches the older boy playfully and Altair easily dodges. Ezio slides smoothly between the two, blocking Desmond's next punch quickly and lightly nudging the younger boy back. Desmond just raises an eyebrow at the intrusion. Altair turns away from the playful scuffle as someone calls his name.

"Oh, sorry guys, got to go, I've got a lesson. Anyways, Ezio, go easy on him please. Desmond, just trust him and do what he says. He'll teach you what you need to know." As he turns to go, Desmond calls after him, the slightest edge of worry in his voice. He hasn't often been alone with people without Altair around to help break the tension.

"How do you know he's going to teach me as well as you would?" Desmond tries not to stiffen when Ezio leans on his shoulder and waves at Altair's retreating form.

"Who do you think taught _him_?" And there's the smirk that has become Desmond's security in the past months. If Altair is smirking, then he knows everything will be okay.

* * *

_The kid's a natural._ That's the only way to describe how Desmond fights. Ezio has moved on from defensive moves, many of which Desmond already knew, probably from fencing club at whatever school he used to go to. Altair keeps the corner of his vision on them, watching carefully as Ezio starts to walk the teenager through the more simple offensive moves. Desmond moves with a speed and grace that is unrivaled by anyone who has just started. For someone who hasn't fought with anything other than a sword, Desmond moves like a pro (a slower, less forceful pro, but Altair will admit he's impressed).

It isn't until about an hour after Desmond arrived that anything truly exciting happens. Altair is finishing up a lesson with someone from a nearby boxing club, and he turns to find Desmond in the actual ring with Ezio. The two younger men are exchanging light blows, fists moving slowly. Ezio is speaking rapidly, obviously giving Desmond pointers and advice on how to improve his stance and his flow.

Altair comes over to watch, leaning against the back wall to avoid making Desmond nervous. Ezio seems happily surprised over Desmond's quick progress and natural skill. The kid already seems to be a good fighter, although he lacks the finesse you would need for a true street fight.

It may seem cruel to have the teenager fighting when he has stitches in his face and a black eye, but Desmond is tough. Altair knows that if the kid had to stay inactive he would go stir-crazy. He can handle a few hits. His face is proof of that fact.

Altair tries to be quiet as he slinks closer, wanting to hear just what his cousin is telling his brother. Desmond lands an average hit, not hard but with real force behind it he could cause some sort of damage. Ezio spews compliments at his admittedly not-great-but-not-awful form and movement, and Altair isn't at all surprised at the shy flush that takes over Desmond's skin. He mentally counts down and, right on cue, Desmond's hand latches onto the back of his neck as he shoots an embarrassed grin at Ezio.

Altair clambers into the ring when the other two finish, Ezio giving Desmond a firm clap on the back. The kid stumbles with a wince, but the Italian doesn't seem to notice. Upon seeing Altair, though, Desmond practically _skips_ over with one of the brightest smiles the older boy had seen him give. Altair smiles back.

"How did I do?" Desmond bites his lip in anticipation, like he's afraid Altair would say anything except 'good'. With a look like that, what else could the older boy give as a reply?

"Great, Des, really great. You're a natural." Another blinding smile. Altair is happy to see the kid so happy. It's infectious. Desmond suddenly looks around with a sheepish look.

"People are watching us." The kid says quietly. Altair glances around and throws his arms out from his sides at the small crowd as if to say 'what?'. There's about ten people, five of them trainers. The rest is an assortment of young adults who're there for early training; the early and late hours are when the serious fighters come.

"Ignore it. Go home, Des. I'll be back after my shift is done." The kid nods and turns to leave, grabbing his sweatshirt from Ezio. He thanks the Italian in his usual, shy voice. He leaves.

Altair feels the loss of his presence immediately.

* * *

Ezio comes over that night. Desmond cooks. After dinner, the three boys end up piled on the couch with a movie on. Desmond keeps asking Ezio questions. It's almost funny, the kid's instantaneous interest in his new relative's life (even if he isn't technically Desmond's relative). It's close enough. The random questions remind Altair of when Desmond first arrived and they always went out for lunch.

As for Desmond, he learns that Ezio has a sister named Claudia and an Uncle named Mario (who just so happens to own the gym Ezio and Altair work at). Desmond still can't wrap his head around the fact that he has more family members (metaphorical family members but still, he has a _cousin_). Ezio is still too loud and too friendly and too touchy-feely for Desmond's tastes but he can live with it. He keeps trying to ruffle Desmond's hair and clap him on the back but the younger boy tries not to show his discomfort.

Altair can't help the flair of jealousy he feels at Desmond's small talk with Ezio. It took the teenager _days_ to warm up to him and yet he's almost instantly buddy-buddy with Ezio. He doesn't want to feel insulted (after all, he was the one that reassured the kid that Ezio was 'okay') but for some reason he does.

It only gets worse when he goes into the kitchen late at night and comes back several minutes later to find that Desmond has fallen asleep and slumped sideways until his head rested on Ezio's thigh. Altair just stares because the kid has never been that close to him. It's been over two months and they haven't even had a one-armed hug or something. Altair hasn't even put the kid in a playful chokehold. But he's laying there on Ezio likes he's never been more comfortable. Altair tries to tell himself that it's just because the kid is tired from pain meds (exhaustion can make you do things you wouldn't normally do). It doesn't work.

His tone holds an edge of green ice as he tells Ezio that it's late and he should probably be going. He doesn't want to wake Desmond, though, so the older boy carefully gathers Desmond up into a messy tangle of limbs. The kid is light for his age and his size. It still surprises Altair, even though he's grown used to Desmond's small stature. The teenager thankfully doesn't wake up when he moves him.

Altair has to physically bite back sending a smug look in Ezio's direction when Desmond buries his face into the older boy's shoulder. It appears that Desmond gets cuddly when he's tired. Ezio leaves and Altair carries Desmond back to the younger boy's room. He's painstakingly gentle when he lays the teenager down, praying he doesn't wake him up. Desmond has been exhausted ever since his attack. Altair knows he hasn't been sleeping.

The older boy almost does a victory dance when he thinks he's been successful in not waking his brother up. He turns to leave and almost groans when a small hand coils around his wrist and a groggy voice calls his name. He glances over his shoulder.

"I like having a family." The kid sounds so damn _happy_ that Altair can't resist the urge to wrap his fingers around Desmond's wrist in response and squeeze. "It's nice."

Altair thinks about what it was like before Desmond showed up. Nobody was ever around in his house. It was dark and quiet. He looks down at the half-awake kid that dropped like a grenade into his life and smiles; a real smile, a luxury he almost never allows himself. If that kid is a grenade, then he'll take the resulting explosion any day of the week.

"Isn't family nice?" Desmond mumbles from where his face is squished into his pillow. Altair's face softens.

"Yeah. Yeah, kid, it is."


	8. Nightmare

**A/N**

**Hi! Chapter 8 is up! Thanks for being patient with my random update times. Oh, and thanks again to everyone who has reviewed and read my fic. I love getting people's feedback. I hope you guys like this chapter and I'm planning to have chapter 9 out as soon as possible. Thanks again for all the support! Please read and I hope you enjoy.**

**A New Life  
**

**Chapter 8: Nightmare**

Altair wakes that night to noise in the kitchen. It's faint, but he's become an even lighter sleeper since Desmond arrived. He was always listening for any noise indicating anything bad happening with the younger boy. Stumbling sleepily out of bed and into the living room, the older boy isn't surprised to see Desmond, but he is surprised to find the teenager with a glass of water clenched in a white-knuckled, trembling fist. He doesn't seem to notice Altair arriving in the doorway, and the way the younger boy leans on the counter is disconcerting; he's hunched over, hands tight against the edge like the cabinets are the only thing holding him up.

"Des?" His voice is quiet but the teenager still jumps, bloodshot eyes snapping up to find Altair in the dim moonlight slipping through the window. Altair flicks the light on and both boys squint in the sudden brightness. Altair steps further into the kitchen, taking in Desmond's tense posture and shuddering breath. The kid's shirt and hair are soaked in sweat and Altair realizes pretty quickly what has happened.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Desmond's flinch tells him he's correct, but before he can say anything else, the younger boy is downing the last of his water and brushing past him with a muttered 'I don't want to talk about it'. Altair almost asks what it's about, but then he remembers the stitches in the kid's lip and thinks that he already knows.

* * *

He dreams that night of dark shapes and the feeling of rain. He dreams of silver knives and crimson drops. There's red-tinted rain and low voices and he dreams and dreams and dreams.

The nightmares started the night he was attacked, but so far they've been minor. This was the first one that was bad enough to actually fully wake him up. It wasn't necessarily _frightening _(he'd been keeping up with fighting lessons with Ezio; he wasn't afraid) but he woke with a gasp anyways, hands clawing at nothing and the crushing sensation of helplessness pressing down on his chest. He'd staggered to the kitchen in a daze.

_Calm down. It was just a dream, man up. _

_Man up._

There's another voice, then, suddenly, besides the one in his head. He doesn't want to talk to it.

Desmond feels bad about blowing Altair off, but he's not a little kid. He doesn't need to sit down and 'talk about his feelings' (he's never been much of a sharing person). He appreciates the concern and he ends up realizing too late that he should have apologized for waking the older boy up, but it was a nightmare; he's had plenty and still remains unscathed.

The dreams continue on and off for another week or so. The stitches come out, leaving an angry red line in their wake. It's obvious against Desmond's skin and he finds himself avoiding looking at it in the mirror. It isn't because he finds it revolting or anything or that he finds it ugly; he's gotten scars before. He avoids looking at it because Altair caught him in the bathroom after the stitches came out. Altair had found the younger boy forlornly brushing his fingertips over the mark, wincing at the pressure on the still-tender skin. The look of guilt that had taken over his brother's face was enough to make sure that Desmond would _never_ look at the mark again if it kept Altair from looking like that. Now he only studies the scar when Altair is at work.

The worst of the nightmares happens roughly two weeks after the attack. It starts like any of the other dreams, with blurred shapes and dull pain that echoes like a memory. It is a memory, only different, warped by his own mind to work against him.

_It's sunny. He finds it ironic that the first thing he would notice is the weather. The sun is out, though, mocking him. He can feel the pain in his lip as the knife is lifted away. He doesn't have to look to know who's above him. He's relived it enough. He waits to wake up. It doesn't come._

_ "You're weak."_

_ His blood runs cold at the voice, a voice he'd come to know so well it was almost second nature to look up. Altair is crouched over him, trailing his fingers up and down the bloody switch blade. Desmond tries to speak but can't find his voice. Blood bubbles up over his lips instead. Altair glances down at him with disdain; a wicked smirk distorts the older boy's mouth and Desmond is so scared he can't breath._

_ "Come on," Altair eggs, his voice that has been comfort and salvation suddenly so dark that Desmond doesn't even know what to think. "Fight back."_

_ The older boy rises, throwing his arms out as if to say 'come get me'. Desmond tries to get his body to move but it won't. It's like he's paralyzed only there's no one holding him down. He blinks and then there's Templars _everywhere_, lunging at Altair all at once._

_ He watches in muted horror as they kick his brother, hit him. They're _beating _him and Altair just laughs, a sick, demented sound that makes Desmond shiver. He fights back smoothly, punching with deadly accuracy and slashing them with the knife. Blood is mixing with blood on the pavement and it's a mess of unconscious and injured bodies thudding against the ground._

_ Desmond wants to close his eyes. He only succeeds in turning his head away._

_ "Look, Desmond." He freezes and his breath quickens. He can't look. He can't because he knows that voice, belonging to someone who certainly isn't Altair. He can never forget it. It's a voice he would have preferred to never hear again. "Look."_

_ The invisible force pulls his head around. There's a dark shape wrestling Altair towards where the younger boy is laying in the dirt. Altair is struggling, growling threats at the shape. It just laughs at him and shoves him down to his knees next to Desmond. The teenager just watches with wide eyes._

_ "Look at how he fights. He never stops, always moving forwards and defending himself." The voice washes over him and his breath quickens to painful levels. "Why can't you be like that? Why are you such an embarrassment? You're so shy. Grow a spine, Desmond. Do you want to know what happens to weak people like you?"_

_ He shakes his head. There's another laugh, deep and almost feral sounding. Desmond wants to run away. "I'll show you anyways."_

_ Hands that look like a shadow grip Altair's head. Desmond manages to wrench his head to the side and clench his eyes shut just as those hands pull sharply to the side. There's a crack and then a heavy weight collapses on top of Desmond's legs. A noise of some sort (horror? disbelief?) builds in his throat but gets caught behind the knot in it. Blood slicks his lips again. He's choking. Oh god, he's choking._

_ A large hand, larger than Altair's and far less safe, rests lightly on Desmond's neck. What looked like a shadow feels like bone, like a skeletal form that digs into his skin. Something cold presses against his cheek. He whimpers, just barely._

_ "Hush. It will all be fine. Just relax…" The words keep repeating, bouncing around in his skull. The cold thing traces the line on his lip before sliding down to his neck._

_ "Relax." The voice is horrible. Desmond wants to vomit. There's a chuckle right next to his ear and Desmond can suddenly move, his limbs jerking. He still doesn't fight back though. He shifts his legs and the weight (_Altair_, his mind supplies) shifts with him. He really thinks he's going to be sick._

_ The sun is still out (and isn't the weather supposed to be dark and stormy when bad things happen?). For the first time Desmond hates the sun. It feels far too close and far too bright. The heat is frying his skin and he feels hot._

_It's too hot. And all he can taste is metal and all he can feel is the cold thing in his skin and the weight on his legs and he just wants it to _stop.

_ The knife slashes sideways and he chokes and chokes and chokes on something that tastes like copper._

He wakes up screaming.

* * *

Altair starts violently into the world of the living, the sound of _something_ ringing in the silence of the dark house. He desperately tries to catch his breath and listens. It's muffled at first and he's just rising out of bed to find the source of the noise when it suddenly picks up in volume.

Desmond is screaming. Altair takes off on the dead run through the house, because no teenager should _ever _make that sound. There's a terror in his younger brother's voice that goes beyond being attacked in an alley. It's the cry of someone who has experienced too many things in too short a time; it's overwhelmed and not at all a noise Altair ever wants to hear come out of the younger boy's mouth again.

He slams the door open without even stopping to consider what he will find on the other side. It's dark and he's relieved to find that Desmond is the only person in the room. He can check the possibility of Desmond being murdered off the list. His relief is short-lived.

Desmond is thrashing underneath his sheets, desperately trying to escape them and only snaring himself further. Altair comes forward, calling the younger boy's name cautiously. The kid is shaking violently and _soaked_ in sweat. A pained, weak noise bubbles out of his throat and Altair swears his heart breaks. Another scream (he will realize later that it sounded like his name) has him lurching forwards and catching Desmond's biceps to keep him from hurting himself.

It's the wrong thing to do. Brown eyes snap open and a fist connects hard with Altair's jaw. He stumbles back, hands raised in defense. The momentum carries Desmond out of bed and to the floor. He lands with a dull thud and a whimper of pain. Altair is moving forwards and scooping the younger boy off the ground before he can recover.

"No!" The cry is wrecked and hoarse. It's broken sounding. The fear in that voice makes Altair's heart clench painfully. "Don't touch me! You killed him!" Altair doesn't know where Desmond's mind is but it's obvious that he's not truly seeing Altair. The small body struggles against his hold as he attempts to keep Desmond still. He barely dodges a blow that just grazes the already-forming bruise on his jaw.

"Stop it." He doesn't yell, but his voice is forceful as he pulls Desmond into his body. He tucks the trembling boy's head under his chin and locks his arms tightly over flailing limbs. It's an awkward position and not at all how he imagined their first hug going, but Altair isn't going to leave Desmond to drown in whatever personal hell he's in.

Altair starts to sway carefully back and forth, cooing quietly at his little brother. "Shh… It's okay, Des. It's okay." The longer he moves back and forth in that dark room, the stiller the younger boy becomes. He isn't relaxed by any means; he's rigid and Altair can still feel him shaking against him. His breath hitches but he isn't crying.

Altair knows Desmond has finally come back to reality when the kid gasps loudly and he seems to choke on something (_nothing_). The head under his chin turns into his collar-bone and Altair holds him tighter.

"You're okay."

Desmond starts to cry; giant, ripping sobs that tear out of his throat. His hands knot into the front of Altair's shirt as he turns fully into the embrace. Altair just continues to rock, stepping back and forth and giving the only comfort he can. He adjusts his hold and slides one hand up to rest on the back of the younger boy's neck, right where he always grabs it when he's feeling vulnerable. He knows that having that pressure there somehow makes Desmond feel safer, so he presses the kid's head closer to his chest and lets his fingers stroke at sweat-soaked hair.

Eventually, Desmond's legs give out and Altair just goes with him. They slide slowly to the floor, the younger boy curled into the older like he's the only thing that can ever possibly protect him. Altair wants to protect him. He wants to keep Desmond safe from everything. The kid is breathing sharply against his chest now, obviously trying to choke back tears and becoming panicked when he can't. Desmond's heart beats frantically against the hand Altair has splayed between his shoulder blades.

"Shh…" He strokes his fingers down Desmond's spine, cradling the younger boy to his chest. "Match your breathing to mine and calm down, okay? You're safe." Desmond makes a tiny noise and hides his face further in Altair's shirt.

"Sorry." It's a hoarse whisper. Altair rests his chin on Desmond's head.

"No." He says sternly. "You don't apologize to me. _Never_ apologize to me unless it's deserved."

"I woke you up. I had a nightmare and I overreacted." Altair gives him a gentle squeeze. "I'm weak."

"You're not. You're not, Desmond. Who told you that? I will not believe that." He pulls the boy's face back and he looks up at him with wet eyes and an even wetter face. He makes an apologetic expression at the damp spot on Altair's shirt. "I don't care about that. Do you want to talk about it?"

Desmond looks down and then back up. His eyes don't meet Altair's. "I was in the alley again…" The words are coming out haltingly, like he wants to speak but can't bring himself to. "But instead of Robert, it was you. And then _he… _He grabbed you and I couldn't do anything and he… and you… it… Sorry." The younger boy trails off. He isn't making any sense.

"If you don't want to talk about it yet, you don't have to." _Whatever he dreamed about really shook him up. _Altair doesn't know who the other 'he' is but he knows it isn't Robert. What really upsets him is that he was the one attacking the kid in his dream. Desmond starts to cry again, silently this time, and Altair tugs his head back down.

"I will never hurt you, Desmond, got that?" He strokes the boy's sweaty hair back from his forehead. Desmond buries into his chest and slowly, his hands creep around to encircle Altair. He mumbles something and clutches at the older boy tighter, like he's going to run away. "What?"

"I've never… had a hug."

_What? _Altair stares in disbelief. Desmond laughs weakly through his sobs. He must have said that out loud. "Or, at least not a real one that I can remember; Dad wasn't much of a hugger and I've never really had friends until now, so… congratulations, you're my first hug." The kid is going for sarcasm, but it comes out more as a sort of plea. He's scared of Altair's reaction.

"Okay." Altair resettles his chin on Desmond's head. "That's okay." The younger boy starts to cry harder at that, although Altair isn't entirely sure why. He doesn't intend to ask; Desmond will talk to him when he's ready. He'll be there.

"_Thank you._" Desmond chokes into his shirt, and the way he says it makes Altair think he's showing gratitude for a lot more than just hugging him after a nightmare. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He rambles off into more quiet cries.

"Shh… I've got you. You're okay, I've got you." Altair presses his face into Desmond's hair. "I've got you."

He rocks again and quietly starts to hum. It was a song his mom used to sing, and the melody comes easily. His voice fills the darkness with a low rumble. It changes something in the atmosphere and Desmond goes limp against Altair's chest, finally relaxing. Eventually, the younger boy falls back into slumber. Altair doesn't dare to try and move him.

He stays there until the sun rises, humming until his voice is hoarse. The next morning, Desmond presses an ice pack to the bruise on his jaw with a soft apology. Altair merely pulls him into a hug in response.

He'll hug that kid every damn day if it makes him happy. He'll hug him everyday for the rest of his life.


	9. Reversing Roles

**A/N**

**Hi guys! Long time, no update! I am so so so so sooooooo sorry for not updating sooner. I was actually ready to update about five days after my last update and then my computer crashed and deleted the ENTIRE CHAPTER. So I had to completely rewrite said chapter and about midway through that I ended up going on a vacation that I didn't know I was going on... so yeah, updating was basically impossible. Sorry once again! But here it is, chapter 9! I tried to make it longer and as good as possible to make up for the wait. Thanks to everyone who has been so patient and who has read and reviewed this story. I'm so happy people like it and I hope this new chapter doesn't disappoint!**

**A New**** Life**

**Chapter 9: Reversing Roles**

There's an empty parking lot on the very edge of Eden, left over from an abandoned construction project. There's no parking lines or lights or even curbs. The fighters in town had converted 'the lot', as it was affectionately called, into a safe place to have street fights. People would go there to spar if they didn't want to go to the gym. Altair, Malik, and Ezio had made it a tradition to go now and then to have a good scuffle.

Altair and Malik are going at it, with light brushes of fists and carefully measured motions. It's quiet except for the soft scrape of rubber sneakers on concrete and Ezio's voice. The extra fighter is always referee, offering advice or stepping in when a move is considered unfair or too harsh.

In the years since he lost his arm, Malik had gotten extremely good at using every part of his body in both defense and offense. He could still hold his own. It's proven all the time by the way Malik hooks his foot behind someone's ankle and tugs them off-balance while shooting a fist at their face, smooth and confident like he's still got two limbs attached to his shoulders.

Altair dodges Malik's foot when he kicks at his shins and thrusts an elbow at the one-armed man's ribs. Ezio calls a 'watch it' and Altair just grins sneakily in response. He never was much of a clean fighter.

_Speaking of dirty fighters_. Several of Robert's goons are coming into the lot. They don't seem to be looking for trouble but Altair can't help the glare he sends at them anyways as they walk by. A fist lightly catches his jaw and he stumbles back, sending a look at Malik that clearly says 'what the hell?'

"Never look away from your opponent, novice." The one-armed male smirks at Altair. "Six years and I'm still taking you to school."

Altair opens his mouth to respond.

"When do you think Robert's going to get down off his high-horse? I know how happy it makes him to get on Ibn-La'Ahad's nerves, but you think he'd stop talking about it all the time."

He freezes at the faint words coming from the Templars that are walking about fifteen feet away. His jaw audibly clicks shut.

"Why shouldn't he talk about it? It was hilarious. I mean, did you see that little bitch's face?"

Altair's head snaps around. He barely hears Malik's muttered 'don't' through the sudden roar in his ears. He misses the 'they aren't worth it, _cugino_' from Ezio. He's focused on the laughter.

"Do you remember how hard he was crying when we left him there with that cut on his face? Man, when Robert cut him that little idiot was screaming like we were killing him or something."

_It was them. They were the ones that hurt Desmond. _

_They hurt Desmond. _

Altair's fist is connecting with someone's face before he can even register that he's moved. One of them swings back and he blocks it easily before slamming a foot between the man's legs so hard he crumples instantaneously. It becomes a blur after that. He knows he's hitting them until his knuckles split, kicking them until his muscles burn. When Ezio finally drags him back, three of the four are unconscious or close to, but they'll live. The fourth is hunched low on his hands and knees. He's the one that called Desmond a bitch.

Altair manages to give him a harsh kick to the face before his cousin can restrain him. He takes great bride that he broke the guy's jaw. He calls an ambulance for them (he's not heartless. He doesn't want them to die). He, Ezio, and Malik leave. Ezio seems slightly afraid of him, like he's never seen him like this, shaking and practically snarling in anger as he breathes. Malik is calm, placing a steadying hand between Altair's trembling shoulder blades as they walk.

Robert catches him the next day when he's coming home alone from work.

* * *

Desmond frowns again at the front door. Malik sighs next to him; he'd come over to hang out at their house today. Altair was going to come home straight after work and they were all going to go to the diner. He looks at the door again.

"Desmond, he's only twenty minutes late; relax. You know Altair gets caught up at the gym all the time. He's probably yelling at Ezio for flirting with the female trainers again." Desmond glared at the older boy.

"He's always home on time when there's plans." He says in defense before looking worriedly towards the entry hall. As if on cue, the door flies open; Desmond ignores Malik's smug expression because it's not Altair.

It's Shaun.

"We need to go. Now." The red-haired man pants out through labored breath. He's sweaty, like he ran all the way here. "Robert attacked Altair for putting his goons in the hospital. Lucy can see it from her window. She texted me before going to try to help."

Malik waves a hand at the British man. "Lucy and Altair can handle Robert and his idiots; they'll be fine." Shuan practically growls in frustration before stalking further into the room.

"You don't understand." He stresses, waving the hand clutching his phone around like that will emphasize his point. "There's too many of them, even for Altair. Malik, Robert is going to drop him into the river."

The room goes silent, broken after an unsettling long moment by Malik's hiss of:

"Shit."

The one-armed man is off the couch and sprinting for the front door almost immediately, and Desmond is slow to stand, looking at the older boys with confusion. Malik stops in the doorway just long enough to make eye contact.

"Desmond, he can't swim."

The younger boy nearly knocks Shaun over on his way out the door. He doesn't have time to worry about it because Altair is in trouble. Altair who has been there for him since the beginning; always a protector, always a comforter. Well, now it's his turn.

He's going to save his brother.

* * *

_God, I'm an idiot. How did I get jumped by _Robert _of all people?_

Altair wakes with a groan, the splitting pain in his head worsening the more aware he becomes. Taking a two-by-four to the skull is officially on his list of the top ten things he never wants to do again. When his vision clears enough to make out his surroundings, the first thing he notices is Lucy.

There's a lot of men, at least ten of them (or maybe twenty if he counts his doubling vision). Two of them are holding the blonde girl by her elbows. She struggles and spits insults at them, kicking at their shins. They don't budge, but seem to be extremely annoyed. Altair would smirk if he had the energy.

The second thing he notices is the fist clenched in his shirt. He follows the arm to the face and almost rolls his eyes, stopping only because it will aggravate his throbbing skull. Robert is smiling at him like he's just won the lottery and Altair glares because even if the side of his head is caked in blood and there are bruises from where he fought back before sliding into unconsciousness, Robert is still no match for him.

The third thing he notices is the angle of the world. Everything is tilted, instead of straight. He blames it on the concussion before realizing that his center of gravity is off too. He's leaning back, head hanging limply between his shoulder blades. Robert is the only thing keeping him from falling over, and Altair truly doesn't understand that because the other boy takes any chance to hurt him.

The fourth thing he notices is the water. While the river in Eden is certainly not a rapid, the current could suck you under if you didn't know what you're doing, which he doesn't. He would be the type of person that notices his greatest weakness last in comparison to everything else. They're on the bridge, and Robert is dangling him precariously over the side. He swallows the fear down.

Altair tries to wrench himself free and away from Robert (he could catch himself on the side of the bridge), but his hazy mind only allows his body a weak spasm. He hangs boneless again.

"What would happen if I let go, Lucy?" Robert chuckles at the still-struggling blonde. "Would he sink? Would he sink and never come up?"

Lucy physically _growls_ at him. "You know what would happen." Robert just laughs in response. He looks back at Altair.

"Would you even try to swim? Or would I get to just watch you drift away into nothing and never resurface?" Altair scoffs at him in response. Robert gives him a hard, ringing slap to the ear and his head explodes in pain.

The world becomes hazy after that. He's aware of voices yelling around him, and the sick laughter that comes in response. There is a voice in the mix that sounds achingly familiar; it tugs harshly at the back of his mind as if saying 'you know this person, they're important'.

Altair barely recognizes when Robert's fingers slip from his shirt. He's falling. A scream echoes around him (_Desmond_), the word unintelligible but the terror and desperate anger behind it is obvious.

There's an odd whooshing sound around his head when his shoulder blades connect with the water. He becomes submerged in frigid darkness.

* * *

Desmond doesn't think he's ever run so fast in his life. Malik is right beside, Shaun is several yards behind, and they just _run._ He's terrified they won't make it in time.

They show up at the bridge and Desmond's heart stops. Altair is dangling out over the side, his feet unsteadily balanced on the guard rail. The side of his face and head is coated in blood, and the sluggish way he's blinking suggests a concussion. Robert's meaty fist is curled in his shirt and Desmond can see the man whispering something to his brother. Altair's eyes flash with something the younger boy has never seen on his face before, and he sees red.

"Don't touch him," He says it loudly as he stalks forwards, stopping just shy of the group of Templars. Robert looks over his shoulder.

"Ah! I was wondering when you would show up. You're right on time; I really didn't want poor Altair to have to take a dip alone." He waves a hand towards Desmond and one of the other boys takes a step forwards, reaching for him. Desmond is quick to lunge in response, twisting the man's wrist back before slamming a foot into the side of his knee and buckling it. He crashes an elbow into the guy's nose and sends him sprawling painfully back on the pavement. Desmond smirks at Robert's surprised expression. Ezio's lessons had paid off.

He doesn't care that the groaning male at his feet hadn't even touched him before he resorted to breaking his nose. Altair is _afraid_, and _nobody_ is allowed to do that. Desmond will protect what's important to him.

"Don't make me hurt you." Desmond hisses at Robert, who merely laughs in response.

"In what way do you intend to hurt me, child?" The larger man chuckles. Desmond raises an eyebrow and gestures towards Shaun.

"He called the police on the way here." That shuts the other man up. He glares at them before a wicked smile crosses over his face. Warning bells go off in Desmond's head.

"Alright then; you play your card, I play mine."

The second Robert releases Altair, Desmond is moving. A Templar catches him, keeping him from moving. He yells _something_, desperation seeping into his tone as he struggles. Malik is suddenly there, wrenching the hands off him. Desmond doesn't think about the sounds of Shaun, Malik, and the freed Lucy fighting behind him as he rips his hoodie and shoes off. He doesn't think about what he's doing when he throws himself over the railing; he just knows that he has to save Altair.

That's the only thing that matters.

It's about a thirty foot drop and it hurts when he hits the water, plunging down before bobbing back up with a sharp gasp. It's _cold_, the kind that seeps into your bones almost immediately. He manages a breath before the current of the river drags him back under. The water burns his eyes when he opens them, searching for his brother in the murky wetness.

When he sees the blur of a familiar white vest, he kicks for it, allowing the current to push him closer. The second his hand touches something that isn't water, Desmond latches on and pulls, dragging Altair with him towards the surface. It seems to take forever, struggling through what feels like miles of water. When they finally break the surface, Desmond sucks a sharp breath and pulls his brother up enough so that his head is fully above the water. The wound on the older boy's head is staining the water pink around them.

There's no response or movement from the older male and, in the back of his mind, Desmond knows that should be severely worrying, but he's too focused on keeping them from sinking to really pay attention to his nagging thoughts.

"Desmond!" The shout sounds soft over the roar of the water around them and the teenager turns his head as best he can, blinking the water out of his eyes enough to see the shape of someone running along the bank parallel to them. The figure is topped with red.

_Shaun._ Desmond's mind supplies the name as he struggles towards the side of the river. He's gasping sharply for air by the time he reaches the bank, shivering despite the physical exertion. The water is freezing and he knows neither of them can stay in much longer. He has a half-delirious thought of being glad he removed his shoes; wet shoes are the worst.

Shaun looms over him, reaching down for Altair as Desmond tangles his fingers in the grass for some form of purchase. Shaun hauls Altair's limp body out of the water and Desmond feels a split second of relief that the older boy is safe before the current drags him away again.

He's sucked under, swirling and twisting down into the depths of the water as the current pushes and shoves him. Water floods his throat. Just as easily, he's brought back up the surface, sputtering and desperate for air. Desmond struggles against the will of the water, limbs moving sluggishly. He's tiring quickly.

With a burst of energy, Desmond manages to reach the side of the river again. His fingers sink into the earth and he manages to drag himself halfway out of the water. He's hacking painfully, face pressed into the grass, when the hand curls around his bicep. He gratefully allows it to pull him away from the water, up onto flat land. He helps as best he can, given his heaving lungs and weak limbs.

"Come on, Desmond, breathe." He recognizes Malik's voice from above him. The younger boy takes a particularly deep suck of air and gags again, water suddenly flooding up from his lungs. It pours from his mouth and nose as he chokes, hunched over on all fours. He slumps forwards when the stream stops, breathing heavily. He feels drained, like his body has turned to soup. A hand settles on his back. It feels too hot, like it's branding him even though he isn't cold.

He doesn't feel cold anymore, just exhausted. Desmond isn't sure whether that's a good or bad sign. Malik carefully helps him to his feet, and the younger boy sags into him on unsteady legs. He's shaking everywhere.

His jacket is suddenly being draped over his shoulders. Desmond isn't sure when Malik had time to grab it, but he hunkers into the familiar white material with a soft murmur of thanks. The shelter of the dry hoodie seems to wake his mind enough to remember why he was in the river in the first place.

"Oh my god," Desmond breathes out, shoving away from Malik. "Altair." The one-armed male follows him swiftly as he stumbles up the bank. It's as close to a run as he can get in his state.

He doesn't realize just how far he'd been swept downstream until he had to come all the way back upstream. He's nearly unconscious with exhaustion by the time he reaches his brother, but the sight that greets him shocks him into awareness.

Altair is lying on his back, Shaun hunched over him. The British man has his hands curled just over Altair's heart and he's pushing down over and over. Desmond's stomach turns to ice. Shaun leans down, ear by Altair's face. The teenager isn't an expert, but he knows that the other male is checking for breathing. Judging by the look on his face when he straightens back up, there is none.

"No." Desmond croaks out from his water-logged throat, staggering forwards. An arm coils across his chest, pulling him back into Malik's body. The unexpected warmth causes a harsh shiver to run down his spine, and he struggles weakly against the hold.

"Let Shaun work," Malik says softly into his hair. "He knows what he's doing."

Desmond can only watch as Shaun bends down again, performing CPR like he's done it thousands of times. He breathes once for Altair and then presses on his chest again. The younger boy is rigid against Malik, fingers digging tightly into his arm. Said arm compresses around Desmond's chest, nearly crushing him. The world seems to go quiet as they wait.

Altair gags loudly.

Shaun rolls him onto his side as the other male spits up water in what seems like gallons. Shaun sits back on his heels and rubs a hand over his face. Desmond blinks at him. It isn't until Malik relaxes his grip with a shuddering sigh that Desmond realizes how _relieved_ they all are. Because Altair is breathing again.

Altair is breathing, whereas Desmond's seems to have stopped.

He feels light-headed as he collapses next to Altair, slumping until they're lying face to face. The brothers are both breathing heavily, obviously exhausted. Desmond coils his fingers around Altair's wrist. The older boy's pulse beats against his palm, weak but there, and Desmond lets his body relax. They're both wet and covered in dirt (Desmond can feel water soaking through his socks), but they're alive.

"You're going to be okay," Desmond says quietly. Altair gives him a small smile that doesn't reach his hazy eyes. Lucy comes running towards them, paramedics in pursuit. He holds onto his brother tighter. "You'll be okay. I promise."

* * *

Altair is slightly more awake than his brother when the medics take them back to the street. He cranes his neck to keep an eye on Desmond, watching as they wrap his little brother in a thick blanket much like the one they're spreading over him. His lungs still feel water-logged and breathing is difficult. When they attempt to move the younger boy into a different ambulance, Altair is surprised by his reaction.

The kid starts _yelling_, frantic and utterly terrified. Altair can't tell what the younger boy is saying, but he struggles into a sitting position and searches for his brother. Desmond is fighting against paramedics, shoving them away and screaming. Malik is coming into the crowd, saying something lowly to a medic and pointing towards Altair. Desmond suddenly slips off the gurney, hitting the pavement with a pained noise. Altair can't take it.

"He's coming with us." The older boy tells one of the men who is loading him into his own ambulance. There must be something in his expression because the man reacts almost instantly and calls something to the other group of paramedics.

Soon enough, Altair has a teenager being settled onto the gurney next to him and they're on the way to the hospital. Desmond presses into his side, burying his face against the older boy's ribs. The kid's arms wrap around him and Altair tucks an arm behind Desmond's head as best he can. They're both wet and shivering, but Altair is too tired to care.

"I'll stay awake," The kid whispers softly, even though it's obvious he's physically drained. "I'll take care of you, like you do for me. I've got you and you're okay."

Altair is reminded of that night when they sat in Desmond's floor and he told the younger boy the same thing. He drifts off to the voices of strangers above him and a familiar shape against his side.

He wakes to a white room and the beep of a heart monitor. It isn't Altair's first time in a hospital, so he isn't very surprised at the feeling of IV's and tubes. His head feels heavy and clouded, and he's barely aware of the bandages wrapped around the wound.

He groans as he sits up, looking around the room. He looks down to find Desmond in a chair next to the bed, slumped over so that his head is resting next to Altair's knees. The older boy places a hand on the side of the kid's skull. Desmond looks pale, even with the tan skin, and exhausted. There are dark bags under his eyes and Altair strokes a thumb over his hair, smiling weakly at the sleeping teenager.

The door opens and a nurse walks in, followed by Malik. The woman smiles softly at Desmond before coming over to check his vitals. Malik comes to sit in the chair on the other side of the bed.

"He refused to leave your side once they let him out of his room. He's been there for three days and has barely gotten up. I've had to bring him food everyday." Malik gestures at Desmond with an exasperated look.

"He's stubborn," Altair says quietly, stroking over Desmond's head again. The nurse exits and he turns to look fully at Malik. "So what's our diagnosis anyways?"

"Well, you both came out of that river with mild hypothermia and water inhalation. You drowned, technically, although Shaun brought you back. They kept you unconscious while they drained excess water out of your lungs. Desmond fared better than you. He was released after the first night and has been here ever since. He hasn't slept until now, something about telling you he would 'stay awake'; I guess he finally passed out from exhaustion. You have a concussion, so they're making you stay for another day to monitor that, but you should be fine and make a full recovery."

Altair smiles weakly at his friend. "Thank you guys for saving me." Malik laughs quietly and punches him lightly in the shoulder.

"Thank the kid, and Shaun, although he wouldn't have had much to do if Desmond hadn't leaped in after you. All I did was beat up some Templars." Malik stares at him solemnly. "Seriously though, dude, we all thought we'd lost you when you fell into that river. None of knew what to do; I would have gone after you, but you know that swimming with one arm isn't easy. And then Desmond just threw himself off that bridge in some crazy 'leap of faith' thing and plunged in after you. He nearly didn't make it out of the river. He was practically unconscious with exhaustion when I got a hold of him. I've never seen him that scared or angry, though. He broke a Templar's nose and then threatened Robert."

"Ezio taught him well," Altair smirks down at his slumbering brother and pushes the younger boy's hair back.

Malik grins. "You're lucky he did. For once Desmond was protecting you instead of the other way around."

Altair nods and he can feel his face soften as he leans down and gently presses his lips to Desmond's temple. It's the barest of pressures, a brush. He doesn't want to wake the younger boy up._  
_

"Thanks for saving me, kid."

He's surprised by how much more he means by it.


End file.
